FWB Verse
by elizaye
Summary: Dean and Castiel have been best friends since college. This story follows the evolution of their relationship. Dean/Cas college au, friends with benefits.
1. The Mistake

**Author's Note:** This fic is written out of chronological order, but if you'd like to follow Dean and Cas's journey as it progressed linearly, I'll put a link on my profile to a tumblr post that lists the chapters in order. There will be some pairings outside of Dean/Cas, but there is no explicit material for those pairings. The fic is posted in full on AO3, but if you're willing to wait for updates here, I'll probably be posting once a week. Also, each chapter was originally written as a part on its own, so I'll be putting summaries up top in author's notes, like so:

The morning-after. Dean is a persuasive son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be.

**I. The Mistake**

The first sensation that Castiel picks up on as he slowly wakes up is soreness. His limbs feel completely loose and slightly achy, but in a pleasant way, like he's just had all the tenseness fucked out of him. He shifts a bit, and—yep, his ass is definitely sore.

It's been a while since he's had sex, and he really doesn't remember much of anything from last night—mostly just an alcohol-induced blur of talking and laughing and kissing and touching. God, it's really been so, so long since his last one-night-stand.

He becomes aware of warmth coming from a hard chest pressed against his back, a possessive hand curled around his hip. Ugh, this could get awkward. Castiel has always been good at keeping strings from forming, and staying the night is never a good sign. It hints at expectations. Another meet-up, or a proper date, or something. And Castiel isn't interested in a relationship, though he'll never admit the true reason why.

He lets out a soft sigh and shifts again, hoping that if the man behind him wakes up on his own, he'll realize that he's stayed too long and just leave—Castiel knows that this is his own bed.

It's surprisingly comfortable to relax back in the man's arms, and Castiel indulges himself for a few minutes as he waits for the stranger to wake.

The grip on his hip tightens slightly, and he feels the man behind him tensing up. So he's awake. Should be rolling out of bed, any second now…

Then the man behind him yawns loudly, and Castiel's thoughts shut down abruptly.

Shit, shit, shit, _fuck_.

"Mornin', Cas," the man—definitely not a stranger, because Castiel would recognize that voice anytime, anywhere—drawls lazily.

The half-hard cock pressed against the small of Castiel's back suddenly becomes impossible, too much, and the hand still resting on his hip feels restraining, terrifying. Because it's Dean fucking Winchester right behind him, hot breath curling around Castiel's ear as he lifts his head.

"D-Dean, what the _fuck_—" Castiel begins, starting to jerk away, but Dean's always been ridiculously strong, and Castiel realizes belatedly that he's lying on Dean's other arm, an arm that rapidly comes up in front of him, pressing him back into Dean's chest. The grip on Castiel's hip becomes bruising.

"Hey—hey—Cas, calm down," Dean's saying in a low voice, and if anything, this only makes Castiel thrash harder. He has the advantage of having been awake and alert longer than Dean, and he finally manages to twist out of Dean's hold.

He hesitates for a moment at the edge of the bed before Dean begins reaching for him, and he has to spring away. He instantly goes to his chest of drawers to find some clothes.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean says from the bed. He's sitting up now, and Castiel sees red marks trailing down his chest, clearly left by fingernails. _His_ fingernails. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_, Dean looks so deliciously debauched.

"Dean, I should be asking _you_ that. How—why—I just—I don't even—_how_ does one end up in bed, naked, with his very straight best friend?"

Dean grins. "Straight? After last night?"

"Okay, apparently bi," Castiel emends. He feels safer now in a pair of baggy sweats and holding onto a shirt, but Dean's marked-up torso is _doing things_ to him. The small tent in the blankets right above Dean's groin isn't helping matters. "It was a mistake," Castiel says, dropping his eyes to the floor. "We were both drunk off our asses, and I hardly remember a thing—"

"Dude. Hey. If anyone should be making excuses like that, it's me. So shut up, man. You're not the one who just came outta the closet."

No, Dean doesn't understand. Castiel needs to rationalize this. Needs to categorize it in his mind as something other than _feelings_ because he can't indulge himself when it comes to Dean. He's worked too hard on suppressing this to let it all go down the drain now.

"Cas—" Dean's voice comes from closer than Castiel's expecting it, and he looks up to see Dean coming right at him "—why are _you_ flipping out?"

Castiel flinches at Dean's nearness and backs up, but he hits the wall far too soon, and Dean just crowds in, hands bracing the wall on either side of Castiel's head so that he can't escape. A quick glance down reveals that Dean's still undressed, and that his dick is still very much interested in the proceedings.

Castiel's mouth waters. Fuck.

"Dean, it was a bad idea. We can just… chalk it up to the alcohol, and pretend it never happened. Okay? I hardly remember any of it anyway, so—"

"Why?"

"_Why?_ Because you're my best friend, and things are gonna get awkward if this—" Castiel gestures meaninglessly between himself and Dean "—keeps up. I don't want it to be awkward."

"Why would it have to be awkward?" Dean breathes, leaning in, and Castiel feels his eyelids fluttering instinctively, his heart rate increasing in response to Dean's nearness.

Castiel's lips part to answer Dean's question, but then Dean's tongue is in his mouth, chasing all capability of thought out of his head. They've both got morning breath and it's a bit gross, but Castiel can't even find it in himself to care, because _Dean Winchester is kissing him_.

Fuck, this can't be happening.

Dean's hands tug Castiel's shirt out of his hands, and Castiel shakes his head, breaking the kiss.

"Stop it," he says.

"I don't want to," Dean responds.

Castiel pushes at Dean's chest. "We have to stop. This… this'll change things. I don't want things to change."

"They don't have to. Cas—_Cas_," Dean says, catching both of Castiel's hands between his. "Stop fighting me."

Castiel lets his hands fall in surrender. He could never deny Dean.

"Look, I know you were pretty freaking smashed last night, but I wasn't _that_ drunk. I remember enough to know that the sex was fucking _animal_, and that's not something I'm about to give up."

"So what, are we going to enter a sexual relationship just because you want to?"

"No, because we _both_ want it," Dean says, hand reaching down to cup Castiel's half-hard dick through his sweats. "Don't you dare tell me you don't want it," he murmurs. "Nothing has to change, you know. We'll still be friends, just with a bit of fooling around on the side."

"What, friends with benefits?"

"Exactly!"

"That's—no," Castiel says. "That never works out."

"As though you have so much experience with it," Dean says.

Castiel tries to formulate a response, but Dean's hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweats, and he can't be blamed for forgetting what he was about to say. Castiel actually jerks when Dean's hand wraps around him, and he goes from half-mast to raging hard impossibly fast.

And then his sweats are being pulled down, and Dean's dropped to his knees in front of him. Castiel straightens, alarmed, and starts to protest, but then he's being engulfed by the hot, perfect warmth of Dean's mouth, and his brain short-circuits.

"Oh God—Dean—_fuck_—" he hisses, slumping back so that the wall can support some of his weight. He lets his hand drop to fist in Dean's short hair, all the while resisting the urge to just _thrust_.

For what could possibly be his first time giving a blowjob, Dean is fucking _amazing_—Castiel feels about two seconds away from coming, and he can't remember the last time he _needed_ so goddamn much. Then again, it could just be because he's been repressing fantasies about this for too long, and actually having them play out is too much.

Dean pulls back slightly so that just the head is in his mouth, continuing to suckle gently, and Castiel moans helplessly. Dean tongues at the slit, and Castiel _whines_.

"Dean—Dean, I can't—" he babbles, and Dean pulls off wetly, licking his lips and grinning widely up at Castiel.

"You're so fucking _pretty_ like this, you know that?" Dean murmurs as he regains his feet, crowding Castiel up against the wall.

Fuck it, Castiel thinks, and reaches out, hands grasping greedily at Dean's body, learning the planes of his back and chest, palming the globes of his ass. Dean grinds his hips forward, and the glide of their cocks against each other is too much and not enough all at once.

"Dean, I… I _need_…"

Dean chuckles, probably amused by the urgency of Castiel's tone, but thankfully he hoists Castiel's legs upward and settles in between them, and the feeling of having his dick sandwiched between their bellies, right up against Dean's, is fucking glorious.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's shoulders and fists a hand in Dean's hair, tugging his head backwards so that he can get a taste of Dean's throat. Then Dean's arm is gone from beneath Castiel's right leg, and he tightens his legs around Dean's waist, using the wall as leverage to keep himself in place.

Castiel tenses at the first press of a spit-slick finger to his hole, clenching instinctively, but apparently he was fucked thoroughly enough last night that his sphincter is relaxed and still a little slick, gives when Dean really starts to push.

"Dean—" he gasps, voice choked off, and Dean silences him with a kiss.

But Castiel doesn't want this, _can't_ want this, he tells himself, even as his hips shift backward to take more of Dean's finger.

"See?" Dean says, voice only just louder than a whisper. "Knew you wanted it."

And Castiel gives up, gives in, stops trying to pretend that this isn't happening. The damage's already been done, so why not take what little of Dean he can get, while he has the chance?

But he knows exactly why not. Because if they really enter into a sexual relationship, he's going to feel hopeful for something more, and that won't do. Castiel doesn't want to be hurt, but hell, he's already hurt.

He reaches a hand down and wraps it around Dean's dick, giving him a firm stroke, root-to-tip. Dean lets out an obscene moan and sinks his teeth into the junction of Castiel's neck and shoulder.

"Fuck, Cas… what you do to me."

Dean adds a second finger to join the first, and Castiel times his strokes with the rhythm of Dean's thrusts. And then Dean's fingers find his prostate, and his hand falters, body seizes up.

"Oh fuck—_Dean_—" he groans, and he doesn't think he's ever heard his voice drop so low before.

"I got you, Cas, I got you," Dean says, and Castiel wonders how their roles got so reversed. If anything, Castiel should be the one talking Dean through this, seeing as he's the one who's more experienced with gay sex.

But this is Dean, so it's no wonder that Castiel feels helpless, overwhelmed.

Dean's trembling a little with the strain of keeping Castiel up against the wall, so Castiel flattens his hands on Dean's chest and pushes, leaning forward to kiss him so he understands that this isn't over yet.

They tumble back into Castiel's small bed, and Castiel loves the warm, heavy weight of Dean settling over him just a little too much. He's so fucked.

"Dean, we need to—" his voice hitches as Dean's fingers press inside again, three instead of two this time, but then he continues, "—to talk."

Dean's eyes fix on Castiel's, and his pupils are blown wide, dark with want. His voice comes out in a frustrated growl. "_Now_, of all fuckin' times, Cas?"

His fingers thrust in hard, pressing insistently on Castiel's prostate, and Castiel arches up, throwing his head back against the pillow. God_damn_, it really has been too long.

"You want me to talk, Cas?" Dean says, a dark glint in his eye, and he jabs Castiel's prostate again. "Yeah, I'll talk. Ben's birthday party, remember that?"

Castiel tries to respond, but Dean's fingers haven't let up yet, and all Castiel gets out is a pathetic whine.

"You caught me starin', asked what was wrong. I'll tell you what was wrong." His voice lowers to a nearly a whisper as he continues, "I wanted to shove you, bend you down right over the dining table, and _fuck_ you. Right then and there, kids and cake bedamned."

Castiel gasps at the visual, at the flash of guilty heat that comes with it, and he needs, _needs_—

"S'ok, Cas, don't worry. Gonna give it to ya," Dean says, and it registers with Castiel a moment later that he must have said something aloud.

Then Dean's lips press against Castiel's, and he opens his mouth instantly, one hand fisting in Dean's hair, the other gripping his shoulder. Castiel surrenders, lets the taste, smell, feel of Dean take him over.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Dean's pulling his fingers out, lining himself up, and pressing in. And even after whatever happened between them last night, it still burns to be stretched this wide, but _fuck_ does it feel good.

Dean groans in a gravelly tone as he sinks in. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a virgin," he grunts. "So—_fucking_—_tight_—"

The last three words are punctuated with three rough thrusts, and Castiel's voice jumps up to a reedy whine. His hands scrabble at Dean's shoulder blades, nails adding to the crisscrossing of scoring already there, and Dean hisses, hips moving faster.

But his thrusts aren't hitting the spot, and given his perfect aim with his fingers, he knows where it is and is intentionally avoiding it. Castiel usually tops, doesn't bottom unless his partner gets the better of him. He isn't a person who begs—that's just not in his nature. Yet Dean's already gotten him to do it more than once, and judging by his actions now, he's angling to get Castiel begging again.

And Castiel would be upset or insulted, except that Dean's screwing deep into him but not deep enough, and he _craves_ it so badly that he thinks he might die.

"Dean—Dean, please—"

Dean chuckles, low and rough, and the sound of it echoes in Castiel's head, curling around his mind like thick smoke. Still Dean doesn't change the angle, and any adjusting Castiel attempts to accomplish himself is foiled by Dean's firm grip on his hips.

In retaliation, Castiel waits until the next time Dean's seated fully inside him before clenching down hard, startling a moan out of him. Dean's whole body seizes up, and for a moment, Castiel thinks the game's up. But then Dean's slowly pulling out again, still thick and hard.

"Cas, you fucker," he breathes, and Castiel just looks up at him innocently—well, as innocently as one can look while stuffed full of cock.

When Dean sinks back in, Castiel repeats the motion, and Dean groans.

"Jesus _fuck_—what _are_ you?"

Dean's next thrust jars his prostate, and Castiel chokes on a gasp. Dean gives him no time to recover, picking up the pace of his hips and hitting that sweet spot every time.

Castiel's not a virgin—far from it, in fact—and he's certainly bottomed before, but it's never felt like _this_, this raw, bordering-on-painful buildup of pleasure, this fucking scary sense of _completeness_ whenever Dean slides home inside him, and Castiel lifts his head, kissing his way along Dean's jaw, throat, whatever he can reach—anything to keep him from saying something stupid, from spewing out the mantra of _I love you I love you I love you_ that's cycling through his head.

Dean starts to lose control over his rhythm, but his aim somehow stays perfect, and Castiel's mouth starts running.

"Come on, Dean, do it—fuck, _harder_—" and he's interrupted by a sharp thrust that forces the air out of his lungs "—yes, just like th—hnngh, fill me up, Dean—need it, I need—"

He gives up on speech and settles for wordless moans, the pressure inside him winding up higher and higher with each forward snap of Dean's hips. He's _right_ there, _right_ on the verge of fucking _bliss_, and he just needs one—two—

Dean thrusts in roughly and comes to a halt, cock pressing insistently on Castiel's prostate, and Castiel can't do much more than cry out at the stimulation. Dean's hips roll in small motions, relentlessly, and Castiel feels stripped to the core, inside-out and raw. It's too much. His fingernails dig into Dean's shoulders, his back arches, and thick stripes of come paint both their torsos as he finally topples over the edge.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Castiel's barely aware of Dean snapping back into motion, lasting maybe half a dozen frenzied thrusts before finally stilling, face slack with pleasure as he comes.

Dean collapses over him, boneless, and Castiel's too comfortable to even ask him to move. It's quiet for a while as they wait to catch their breath, and Dean eventually shifts slightly to the side to take some weight off Castiel.

"I have office hours today," Castiel says, groaning. It's Sunday. Why is it Sunday?

Dean just grunts and lifts one shoulder in a half-assed shrug.

"Get off me, Dean. I've gotta shower."

When Dean doesn't respond, Castiel sighs and tries to slip out from beneath him, but a large hand clenches on Castiel's hip, holding him close.

"Dean," Castiel says impatiently.

"Hmm, fine," Dean grumbles, fingers uncurling from their positions around Castiel's hip.

Castiel slips out of bed and makes a mental note to throw the sheets in the laundry when he gets home.

* * *

Castiel comes out of the shower and finds Dean right where he left him—lying blissed-out on the bed. Feeling exposed, he turns to his dresser to pull out some clothes and puts on a pair of boxers.

"Cas… this isn't gonna be awkward now, is it?" Dean asks from behind him.

"I don't know," Castiel responds, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He hears shifting and turns to see Dean getting off the bed—still naked what the _hell_—and moving toward him. He lets Dean crowd him back against the dresser, lets Dean's hand rest on his cheek for a moment.

"Tell me we're doing that again," Dean says.

"I don't know, Dean."

"Well, it's not like we can just forget this ever happened." Dean's hand slips down to Castiel's neck, thumb rubbing his skin gently, and Castiel realizes that he's tracing the hickey he left there. "Hell, Cas, I see this on your neck, and it just makes me wanna mark up the other side, too."

"Don't."

"You can't say you don't wanna do this again. Come on, Cas."

"It'd be better if we didn't. Sex complicates relationships."

"Well, how 'bout if we set up some ground rules to keep things simple?"

"You can't just—"

"Sure I can. C'mon, Cas, work with me here. Or am I that bad of a lay?"

Castiel gives Dean an annoyed look. "Fine. What sort of 'rules' are you suggesting?"

"Um. I don't know, anything that keeps strings from forming?"

Castiel sighs wearily and turns away to pull on a pair of jeans. "Dean, we're friends. There are already strings."

"Oh, you know what I mean. Emotional stuff."

"Dean, I don't know about this." But he's never been able to actually deny Dean completely, so when Dean opens his mouth to keep arguing, Castiel surrenders. "No cuddling," he says.

Dean stares at him. "Dude."

"Cuddling fosters closeness. If we're avoiding a serious relationship, we can't be cuddling."

"Dude, you know what Anna's said about me. You can't—"

"What? What has Anna said about you?" Castiel teases, turning to grin at Dean.

"Oh, fuck you."

Castiel clears his throat. "Think that's already gone down, cuddleslut."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. If you're gonna take my cuddles away, I won't make breakfast for you in the mornings."

"You shouldn't do that anyway. It's usually taken to be a romantic gesture."

"Okay, how 'bout we make the rule 'no staying overnight' instead. I mean, come on. It's practically impossible to not cuddle after sex."

"For you," Castiel says. But Dean fucking _pouts_ at him, so Castiel has no choice but to concede, "Fine." He gets this feeling in his gut that he shouldn't be doing any of this in the first place, but he's always been unfortunately adept at ignoring that feeling when it comes to Dean.

"Okay uh, we shouldn't be exclusive, yeah?" Dean says. "If either of us meets someone, we can just call this off."

Castiel nods, doing his best to ignore the pang in his chest. Then Dean smiles, and Castiel can only look at him for a moment before averting his eyes. How could anyone not love this man?

"We should probably keep this low-profile," Dean says, and Castiel shrugs.

"Why should we? It isn't as though we're doing anything wrong."

Dean hesitates before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Doesn't matter what other people think."

Castiel returns his smile before reminding Dean, "I've gotta head out. Office hours."

"Right. Sunday."

"Yep. I'll see you later, all right?"

"Yeah."

Castiel walks out of his bedroom and across the small living room to the door of his apartment. "Lock the door on your way out, 'kay?" he calls as he pulls on a pair of shoes.

"Got it!"

Castiel exits the apartment, closes and locks the door behind him, and just stands there for a minute. Fuck, this has gotta be the worst mistake he's ever made in his life.


	2. The Aftermath

**A/N:** Sam and Lisa react to the latest development in Dean and Castiel's relationship.

**II. The Aftermath**

"Well, you look happy today," Sam says as Dean sits down across from him.

"Yeah, I'm great. Coffee, black, thanks," Dean adds to the waitress as she approaches.

"You sure that's how you should be feeling right now?" Sam asks.

Dean sighs. "She told you, didn't she?"

"No," Sam replies. "She told Jess, and Jess told me. Dude, don't you think I should be hearing about this directly from you, Dean?"

"Nope. Since when have I ever gone to you with relationship issues?"

"Well… yeah, but still. A break-up is different. Tell me you at least went and talked to Cas about this."

"Yeah, of course. First thing I did after I left Lisa's was call him." As he finishes speaking, Dean can't stop a grin from forming on his lips.

"Dean… I don't like that look on your face. What happened?"

Dean fully intends on deflecting the question, but the words just slip past his lips—"I fucked Cas last night. Twice. And again this morning."

Sam's jaw has dropped, and he looks mildly horrified.

Dean frowns and says, "Hey, what's your problem?"

"I just—why? You—you're not even _gay_, Dean. Why would you—"

"Relax, Sam. The world's not gonna end just because I slept with a guy. A really bendy guy."

"Ugh! I really didn't need to know that, Dean," Sam complains with a pinched look on his face.

Dean grins and sips the coffee that the waitress has just placed in front of him. It's a bit too hot, and he burns his tongue, but he's too busy being amused by the look on Sam's face to really care.

"So what are you guys, then?" Sam asks.

"Friends," Dean says, like it's obvious. "Still friends. Why would sex change anything?"

"Well… how does Cas feel about it?"

"He's fine with it. Friends who get to have sex too—that's awesome. I shoulda tried gay sex earlier. I'm telling you, Sammy—"

"Don't!" Sam protests loudly, and several heads turn in the diner. Dean chuckles and goes back to his coffee, and Sam ducks his head, nursing his girly, iced drink.

They're silent for a few minutes, and Dean's just waiting for all the cogs to finish turning in Sam's head, because he just _knows_ his little brother's gonna have problems with just accepting this.

"You _sure_ about this?" Sam says finally. "I mean, Cas has been your friend for a _long_ time. You sure that this won't change _anything?_"

"Yeah, I'm sure. The only difference is I get to tap that ass. It's all good, Sammy."

Sam eyes him doubtfully and says, "You're hopeless, Dean." After a brief pause, Sam groans. "Ugh, I'm about to go to Cas's office hours. Last thing I need is a mental image of you and him, _together_."

"Together, what? Us together, having bendy, sweaty, writhing—"

Sam cuts Dean off by clapping his hands over his ears and humming loudly, and Dean has to laugh at how childish the reaction is.

"Dean…"

"What?" Dean asks, still grinning widely.

"You suck, asshole."

"I haven't gotten around to trying that yet, but I'm sure I can persuade Cas to let me give it a shot."

Sam makes a strangled sound and proceeds to look scandalized.

"Oh, this is going to be _great_," Dean says.

"I'm outta here," Sam replies as he gets to his feet. "God, I think I'm scarred for life." He starts walking away, but then he turns back and asks, "It really isn't weird? At all? I mean, you dated two of his close friends, and now—"

"Cas and I aren't dating, Sam. It's not weird."

Sam frowns. "Yeah. Sure. If you say so. 'Kay, I'm out."

"See you."

* * *

Castiel's staring blankly at the paper in front of him. _The Wonders of Ancient Roman Art_, it's titled, but the student hasn't managed to convey any wonder at all in the five pages required for this assignment.

But that may not be the student's fault—Castiel's more than slightly distracted from his task. His mind keeps flashing back to Dean. Dean's pretty lips stretched wide around his cock. Dean's low voice that dropped even lower as he neared the end. Dean's face, slack with orgasm as he slowed his thrusts, pumping his come into Castiel.

Fuck, Castiel needs this hour to be over so he can get the hell out of here. It's his own fault, he supposes, for scheduling his office hours for Sunday mornings, but he's so busy during the week that there's just no time to set aside for students.

A rap on the door drags Castiel out of his thoughts, and he looks up to see Sam standing in the doorway, looking down at him.

"Sam. Come on in," Castiel says with a smile. He notices that Sam's eyes linger at his neck for a moment and resists the urge to fidget. Sam also looks uncomfortable, which really can mean only one thing. "I suppose you already know," Castiel says—he's never been one to beat around the bush.

Sam flushes, eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's, and he nods. "Yeah, Dean told me."

"Somehow I knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut," Castiel says.

"I'm uh," Sam pauses to clear his throat, "I'm fine with it. If that helps."

Castiel shrugs. "It's not anything meaningful, so you don't have to worry."

"No, um. No, that's the exact reason why I should be worried," Sam contradicts.

Castiel frowns. Sam can't possibly—he doesn't _know_, does he? "We're at my office hours, Sam. Ask what you came to ask," Castiel says, changing the subject.

Sam's expression tightens a bit, but he relents and takes the seat across from Castiel. "I was wondering if you could take a look at the outline for my paper. And the thesis," he says, digging into his backpack.

"Sure," Castiel says, setting aside the paper he hasn't been able to grade.

Really, it's unfair for him to be grading anything in this state.

Sam produces a slightly crinkled paper and hands it over. "What else are you TA-ing for?" he asks, glancing at the stack of ungraded papers on Castiel's desk.

"Ancient Greek and Roman Architecture."

"Oh, I loved that one," Sam says. "Woulda been better if you were TA, though. We had a moron the semester I took it."

"I'm sure he wasn't a moron," Castiel says, smiling, as he looks over the thesis statement.

After a brief discussion on the ethics of keeping relics from other ancient societies in Western museums, Sam takes his outline back.

"Thanks, Cas. It always helps to talk to you."

"No problem," Castiel replies, picking up the abandoned paper. But Sam lingers in the doorway, so Castiel says, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I just… be careful, Cas."

Castiel decides to try to play it off—"Don't worry, Sam. I won't hurt your brother."

"He's not the one I'm worried about," Sam says pointedly, and fuck, he does know.

"It'll be fine," Castiel says. "Nevertheless, thank you for your concern."

Sam smiles tightly. "Yeah, no problem. I'll see you later, Cas," he says as he backs out of Castiel's office.

"Goodbye, Sam."

As soon as Dean's brother is gone, Castiel relaxes slightly. Apparently Sam knows, or at least has a hunch, that Castiel may have more feelings toward Dean than he lets on.

Castiel considers giving Sam a call—after office hours, of course—to get a clear answer on that. Besides, the last thing he wants is Sam telling Dean about it in an attempt to protect Castiel's feelings. But all that would accomplish is make Dean feel guilty for something that's really Castiel's problem, so… it wouldn't be fair.

Yes, he should talk to Sam about this. But first, papers. Castiel sighs.

* * *

Dean sits at the kitchen table at home, leaning back in his chair lazily. He's in a dark blue t-shirt and boxers, 'cause he was too lazy to look for pants when he woke up.

Distantly, he hears the large front door of their home slam shut and frowns. It's Monday, and Sam should be in class right now so…

"Cas?" he calls out hopefully.

But then Lisa stalks into the kitchen, and Dean deflates.

"So it's Cas, huh? You are _such_ a liar."

"Liar? I haven't—"

"You couldn't have said at some point—_any_ point—in our relationship, that you were gay?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "It's not as though I really knew myself. It didn't hit me 'til about two weeks ago. What was I s'posed to say? 'Sorry Lise, but I think I might like dick a lot more now than I did at the start of this relationship.'" Lisa cringes at this. "Who told you, anyway?" Dean asks as an afterthought. "If Sam said anything—"

"It wasn't Sam. I had lunch with Cas yesterday."

Dean can't stop his eyebrows from lifting in surprise. "Cas—"

"Yes, Cas told me. I know you've been all buddy-buddy with him for a few years, but don't forget that he and I practically grew up together."

Dean nods. "Yeah, I know."

It _is_ too easy for him to forget about that, since he hardly ever sees them together anymore. And then he realizes that Cas and Lisa never get together without—

"Yes, Anna was there, too," Lisa says, guessing Dean's train of thought.

Dean groans. "Fantastic."

"Isn't it?"

Dean hasn't seen Anna for years, not since she moved off to some small town in the middle of nowhere that's about a three hour drive away. He tries not to think about the reason why she had to leave.

"I'm sorry, Lise. I—"

"It's fine. You and I weren't gonna be forever anyway, and it was fun while it lasted. I'm not here to get an apology."

And yeah, that sounds like the Lise he knows, all right. "So why are you here?"

"Well first off, I just wanted to know why you couldn't say anything about this two nights ago, when you broke it off."

Dean shrugs. "I just… I don't know. I guess I wasn't ready to tell you."

Lisa huffs, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes, so Dean knows they're okay. And then Lisa's saying, "Cas insists that you guys have some sort of an arrangement, with rules and everything. But I—Anna and I—both think you should put a stop to it, before one of you guys gets hurt. I mean, you and Anna started off so great, and look what happened."

"Hey, it wasn't all my fault."

"I never said it was."

"Then stop acting like it."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. Calm down."

"I _am_ calm, damn it."

Lisa sighs. "Look, Cas, Anna, and I were… the best of friends, before you came along. And I just… we're finally able to be around each other again, Anna and I, and we don't wanna have to go through the same shit with Cas."

"You're kidding, right? You and Anna made up last year. And Cas and I—totally different from you and me."

"Not the point, Dean."

"Then get to the point."

"I just wanted to tell you that if you're really gonna keep this up, you'd better not hurt Cas, because I've already had to watch Anna move out to the middle of nowhere to escape you, and I'm not about to lose Cas, too." Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Lisa holds up a finger before going on, "I know what you're gonna say, and I don't care how casual you think this is. Have you ever successfully pulled off a sex-only relationship? Never mind, don't answer that, Mr. Love-'em-and-leave-'em."

"Lisa—"

Her phone goes off, and she says, "That's my alarm—I've gotta go. Just… Cas is like our baby brother. You're not _allowed_ to break his heart."

"I won't—what even—" Dean splutters, but Lisa's already out of the kitchen, and Dean's too lazy to chase her down and explain what she doesn't understand. As long as Dean and Cas are clear, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks… right?

Dean gets to his feet and stretches languidly before heading over to the first floor sitting room—he remembers leaving his phone there. He's on the couch, about to call Cas, when his phone rings.

"Dad?" Dean says.

"Dean. I won't be coming home this week, after all—too much work got piled up, and—"

"Yeah, that's fine," Dean cuts him off. He's been expecting this phone call. Dad never wants to come home, and that's fine. Dean's _fine_ with it.

"How's Sam?"

"He's fine. We're both fine."

"Good."

There's a brief silence, and then Dean says, "Y'know, you've been out at the Florida office for two months already. How 'bout Sam and I fly down there to visit you?"

"Doesn't Sam have school?"

"Sure, but there's something called the weekend."

"I'd appreciate that, Dean," Dad says gruffly, and Dean knows that he's trying to hide his emotions. Typical.

Then again, Dean can't really talk—he's got a habit of avoiding touchy feely talks, too. "I'll talk to Sam about it when he gets home," he says.

"Good."

The conversation feels over, so Dean says, "I've gotta go now. I'll give you a call later."

"Yeah. Thank you, Dean."

"Bye, Dad."

"Bye."

Dean hangs up and stares at the phone for a long minute.

He can guess at how Dad must feel whenever he returns to this town, even if they're rich now, and living in a different house, a different part of town. But feeling shitty about the place doesn't give Dad an excuse to just stay away indefinitely. Of course, it doesn't help that Sam's always antagonizing him.

Dean shakes his head and pulls up Cas's number. Dude better not be busy tonight.


	3. The Anniversary

**A/N:** Castiel knows when to be there for Dean.

**III. The Anniversary**

It's always hard to convince Cas to stay in bed just a bit longer. Cas's always been the sensible, careful one, and it just makes sense that he'd be the one to observe those stupid "rules" so closely.

Dean, on the other hand, doesn't think too much of them. This is especially true right after sex. And since Cas already knows he's a cuddleslut, Dean's got nothing to lose when he octopuses his limbs around his bedmate, nuzzling into his neck. Towards the beginning, Cas only allowed maybe ten minutes of this. But Dean's been gradually extending it, and over the past year, he's worn Cas down to the point that Cas might stay in Dean's bed for up to half an hour, on a good night.

Staying longer in Cas's bed, however, is quite a bit easier. Mostly because it's easier for Cas to worm his way out from the tangle of Dean's limbs and slip away than it is to banish Dean from his bed.

Either way, the important thing is that Dean gets his fill of cuddling, usually after friggin' amazing sex, and he's definitely enjoying this arrangement. Cas seems surprised that they lasted so long. Dean likes to roll his eyes and say he knew all along that they were soulmates, but he's secretly surprised, too. And pleased.

It's been over a year since the night that started this. They started eating dinners together regularly just under a year ago, for the sake of simplicity. After all, they've got rules about staying overnight and breakfast the morning after, but no one ever said anything about dinner. In the first few months, they alternated between Dean and Cas's places about evenly.

But ever since Sam got into Stanford Law, Dean's had a hard time staying alone in that huge, empty husk of a home. Dad still hasn't come back in all this time, and Dean gets the feeling that he never will.

So nearly every single day, Dean seeks out his best friend and tries to persuade him to come over. Because even though he ultimately gets less cuddle time this way, Dean can still curl up in the space where Cas lay and inhale his scent to remind himself that he's not alone. Dean hates coming back from Cas's apartment to an empty mansion and a cold bed. Hates it so much he could _die_.

These are things he doesn't say—_can't_ say, to be honest. He's never liked being vulnerable. Even Sam doesn't know just how much it kills Dean to have their family scattered around like this. But Sam's in law school, and he's happy. Dad's busying himself with work to avoid coming home to painful memories, and when he calls, he sounds content. And as long as they're happy, Dean can deal with this achy emptiness.

He'll be fine. He always is.

But yeah, Dean's never been this thankful that Cas is around, that he could possibly take on an offer to stay at the university as a professor, because that means Cas won't be going anywhere. _Won't be leaving me_, Dean tries hard not to think.

And just as he's thinking of giving Cas a call, he hears that familiar, growly voice—"Hello, Dean."

Dean jerks upright from his reclining position on the couch. "_Jesus!_ Cas, make a noise when you're comin' in, next time."

"I made plenty of noise," Cas responds nonchalantly, settling beside Dean on the couch. "You just weren't paying attention. What the hell are you watching?"

Dean turns his head to look at the TV, which—oh, it _is_ on. "I have no idea," he admits. "Is that in Spanish?" he adds when he realizes that he doesn't understand a word they're saying.

"No. Italian—you get television channels in _Italian?_"

"You know me. I just picked the package with the most channels. I get stuff in Chinese or Japanese, too. Probably both, come to think of it."

Cas stares at him for a moment before saying, "As interesting as the history of Florence is to me—and you know I'm interested in that—wouldn't you rather watch something in a language we both can understand?"

Dean grunts his assent but does nothing.

Cas gets up and pulls open the DVD cabinet, and Dean can't help but smile. Cas and Dean have such different taste in movies that well, it means a lot that Cas hasn't brought along his own movie with nine gajillion arguments for why they should watch it, instead of another episode of _Walker, Texas Ranger_. Dean can't even get him into _Star Wars_, _or_ _Star Trek_. You'd think, with all his quirkiness, Cas would try to relate to Spock, but he can't. Apparently.

Dean's pulled out of his thoughts when Cas sits back down again.

Then the movie's starting, and it takes Dean longer than it should to realize that it's _Forrest Gump_. Of course. It's one of the few movies that they both like, and Dean's just grateful that Cas didn't try going upstairs to raid Sam's collection of DVDs—Sam and Cas have similar taste because they're both giant _nerds_, except that Sam's a proper nerd and still likes _Star Trek_. Cas is just plain weird.

Cas pinches his arm. "Pay attention," he reprimands Dean.

"Yeah, as if I need to. How many times have we watched this?" Dean snipes.

Cas doesn't answer.

A few minutes later, Cas leans over, nuzzles into Dean's neck for a moment before resting his head on Dean's shoulder, eyes still fixed on the TV. Dean drapes an arm around Cas's shoulders, shifts to get more comfortable, and his eyes inexplicably begin to prickle.

Well—not so inexplicably.

Because today is the day of Mom's death, so many years ago. And he hates thinking about it—_hates_ it—hence the long, rambling session of thinking about _anything but Mom_. It hurts that Dean is the only one in town on this day. Dad and Sam both called earlier on in the day, but it's just not the same.

He wishes he had enough words to thank Cas for knowing. Knowing to be here, knowing not to say anything about it—any of it, knowing that Dean's a tactile person and needs touch, needs it to feel like he's not alone, knowing that that's the reason why he likes cuddling so much.

But Dean doesn't say things like this. So he twists and curls up on the couch, pulls Cas into his arms. "Cas…" he whispers, but he can't get any farther than that.

Cas doesn't turn his head toward Dean, just rests a hand on the one that Dean's placed on his chest. "I know, Dean. I know," he says softly, and of course he'd know that Dean doesn't have the words.

Dean watches as Forrest races across the football field and wonders how the hell he got so lucky.

* * *

When Dean's breaths even out, slow and deep, Castiel reaches out, gets the remote, and turns off the television. He starts to sit up, but Dean's arms tighten around him, and he can feel Dean tensing up against his back.

"Cas, what—"

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," Castiel says, patting Dean's hand.

"Hmm," Dean hums sleepily. But his arms don't relax, and it breaks Castiel's heart every time he's reminded that Dean is so used to losing people—being _left behind_—so used to it that he's afraid to let go.

"Relax, Dean," he coaxes softly. "When you wake up, I'll be here. That's a promise."

Dean grunts. "Yeah, right. Last time you said—"

"I didn't promise that time."

"Oh. I guess you didn't," Dean responds, words slurring together toward the end.

Castiel turns his head slightly, presses his temple into Dean's jaw, and hums an old lullaby, low and soft. It's the tune his mother used to sing for him when he was a child. It was soothing for him then, and he hopes it will help Dean now.

"Mm, sounds good," Dean mumbles, limbs loosening as he drifts toward unconsciousness, and Castiel smiles.


	4. The Roommate

**A/N:** I've been updating this every other day, and I think that's working out rather well. However, I'd just like to warn you guys that I'll be in the process of moving and getting settled in a new place starting this coming week, so if any updates come late, that'll be the reason why. Now, back to our regularly scheduled chapter:

Dean and Castiel's first meeting.

**IV. The Roommate**

Castiel pulls the door open and freezes at the sight of a body blocking his way. He sees a key-bearing hand extended, clearly intending to unlock the door, and deduces that this will be his roommate for the coming year.

"Castiel," he says, lifting his eyes to the boy's face, and _Jesus_, he's pretty—long, dark lashes framing hazel-green eyes, wide with mild surprise; prominent brow, full lips, smooth cheekbones. He'd always thought that Brad Pitt was as beautiful as men could get, but he's prepared to reevaluate that decision.

Thank god he's already introduced himself, because he doesn't think he remembers his own name, in this very moment.

"Dean," tall, dark, and handsome—well maybe not so dark, but he's tall and he's fucking handsome, and that's way more than enough—says, grinning roguishly. "Dean Winchester."

"Hello," Castiel says, and considering his current state, he's proud of himself for not stuttering.

"Hey. I'd uh, shake your hand, but…" Dean cuts himself off, lifting his arms up a bit to point out to Castiel that he's currently hefting two large duffle bags.

"_Oh!_ Oh—sorry," Castiel says, backing out of the doorway to let Dean into the room. He pokes his head out into the hallway after Dean's inside. There are a lot of people in the process of getting settled in, but they're in the corner room, and no one's headed this way.

"My family's not there," Dean says from behind him, and Castiel turns to see that he's plunked both duffle bags down beside the unclaimed bed. "If that's what you're waiting for, that is," he adds.

"I see," Castiel responds, backing fully into the room and letting the door swing shut. "Why didn't they come?"

"Oh, they did. Just dropped me off here."

"Just like that?"

Dean shrugs. "Yep. I'm from around here, so it's no big deal."

"I see," Castiel repeats. But no, he doesn't see. Because although Dean's body language—and spoken language, for that matter—both agree that this is "no big deal," it clearly _is_ a big deal to Dean that he's been left here just like this.

_Abandoned_, Castiel tries not to think, because that just hits a little too close to home.

"So, how 'bout you?" Dean asks. "Where are you from?"

"California."

Dean whistles. "Wow, and what made you decide to come out here to the Midwest?"

Castiel intends on giving a vague or deflecting answer, something to the effect of "Oh, just wanted a change of scenery," or "I'm just a huge history buff, and Bleeding Kansas was fascinating to me." But what slips out is, "Family problems."

"Oh," Dean says, face darkening, and Castiel nearly bites his tongue.

"Sorry," he says quickly. "Don't know why that uh—"

"No, no, it's fine," Dean interrupts. "Every family's got its own problems. I get it. I really do. So… just had to… get away?"

"Something like that," Castiel says, and clamps his mouth shut. Because Dean is a beautiful dude, and he really doesn't need to hear Castiel's sobby life story right now.

"When'd you move in?"

"Yesterday."

They fall into a brief awkward silence, and Castiel shifts uncomfortably. He hasn't ever been particularly adept in social situations, and it doesn't help that Dean's ridiculously hot.

"I'm uh, gonna unpack now," Dean says, leaning down to unzip the closer of his two duffle bags.

"Right. Yeah. I was gonna go do… something," Castiel says, flushing at how stupid he must sound. He turns quickly and pulls the door open, hopefully before Dean can catch him blushing.

"Something," Dean repeats, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah. Was nice meeting you," Castiel manages to say before yanking the door shut behind him.

_God_, he's such a fucking dork. How the hell is he going to survive a year living with Dean if he can't even handle a few minutes alone with him?

And here's another much more immediate problem—what the hell was he about to do before Dean interrupted him?

Oh, this is going to be a _long_ year.

* * *

Dean grins at the closed door. He's got a nervous roommate. Which sure, could get awkward in the future, but when they get to know each other a bit better, he'll probably have tons of fun messing with the guy.

It also helps that he's not completely hideous. Dean's not into guys, not at all, but he can still appreciate having someone around who's easy on the eyes. And speaking of eyes, Dean doesn't think he's seen eyes bluer than Cas… oh, shit. He's forgotten his name already.

"Casper?" he mutters to himself. "Definitely not. Caspian?" He shakes his head and glances at the door for a moment before crossing to Cas-something's side of the room, but somehow _none_ of the dude's belongings are labeled with his name. What the fuck, man.

Dean returns to his duffle bag and continues emptying clothes into a drawer. It shouldn't matter too much—he'll just apologize, ask again, and it'll be fine. He lets his roommate fade out of his thoughts.

But now that the distraction is gone, Dean slips back into the sullen mood that's been plaguing him all morning. Because Dad couldn't even be bothered to come up and see the room or anything. Not that there's anything special to see, but everyone else's parents seem to be making a big deal out of letting go of their kids and all. And yeah, Dean gets that he's still in town, that he hasn't even left Lawrence, but still. He's technically moved out. Shouldn't that mean something?

It hurts more that Sammy didn't come up, either. Dad and Sam were fighting over something or other—they're always squabbling over insignificant things—so Dean can't really blame Sam for not being in the mood to help him set up his stuff. Really, it's not as though Sam's never gonna visit.

And at this point, Dean realizes that he's just being a big girl about all this, which is why he didn't say a word when he got outta the car, but _still_. They're family. This, whatever this was today, did not feel like family.

Dean shakes his head as though that'll help him clear out these morose thoughts, but obviously it does nothing.

Then there's a series of three sharp knocks on the door, and Dean slides the drawer shut before moving over to open it. Two girls—a brunette and a redhead—are standing in the doorway.

"You're not Cas," the redhead says.

"Nope, I'm not," Dean answers, eyes sweeping over both of them.

The brunette is dressed fashionably, with not-too-high heels, a short skirt, and a leather jacket. Her hair hangs down in long, sweeping curls, and when he looks at her face he notes that she's obviously checking him out, too.

The redhead, meanwhile, is wearing a plain white shirt under a dark jacket and a pair of tight jeans that go over—are those hiking boots?

"Lisa Braeden," the brunette says with a winning smile, and Dean grins back.

"Dean Winchester."

"Winchester, like the gun?" the redhead asks.

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, just like the gun. You know something about firearms?"

The redhead smiles. "_Oh_, yeah."

"Anna, let's not get into your homicidal tendencies," Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

"Oh my _god_," the redhead—Anna—groans. "There are tons of people who hunt animals, okay? None of them are getting accused of _homicide_ day in and day out."

"Oh, you hunt?" Dean says, interested despite the look that Lisa throws in his direction when he says this, like he's a monster who strangles puppies or something. "What kind of game?"

"Anything, really," Anna says, smiling. "Why, do you hunt?"

Dean's about to reply when a phone goes off loudly, and he looks between the two girls.

"Mine," Lisa says, pulling out a cell phone and picking it up. "Cas!" she says cheerily. "Where the hell are you?"

Dean can't hear Cas—seems like it's okay to just call him that—Cas's response, so he tunes Lisa out to look at Anna instead. She's listening to Lisa's half of the conversation and doesn't seem to be missing anything, so maybe these girls know Cas pretty well.

Anna's actually kinda pretty, now that he's really looking at her. She just looks a little plain next to Lisa, who's all dolled-up and curvy and woman-y. Anna stands with her back straight, stance sort of rigid and formal, as though she was taught to stand one way and doesn't know how to relax. He's pretty sure it's got nothing to do with hunting because Uncle Bobby took them on hunts all the time, and he never said anything about robot-stances—

"Hello? Um. Earth to Dean?"

Dean snaps back to attention and sees that Lisa's watching him expectantly. "Right, yeah. I'm still here," he says, grinning in a way that he knows the girls generally find adorable.

"We're going to grab lunch with Cas—he was supposed to meet us downstairs, but someone let us in the building, and I guess we missed each other," Lisa explains. "You wanna come with?"

"Sure," Dean answers. "Where are you guys headed?"

"Actually, we have no idea," Anna says. "Just rolled into town yesterday, and we spent most of the day moving in, so we haven't really had a chance to wander around yet."

"Yesterday, huh?" Dean says as Anna and Lisa start down the hall. He pats his pockets to make sure everything's there—keys, cell phone, wallet, and he's good—before following them out and shutting the door behind him.

"Yep. It was chaos. Definitely worse than today," Lisa comments.

"So are you two both new students here too, or…?"

"Actually—" Lisa begins.

"No, we're not," Anna says, cutting her off, and Lisa pouts.

"Oh, you always ruin all the fun," she complains.

"Clearly I don't, or you wouldn't hang out with me," Anna answers matter-of-factly before turning to Dean. "I'm about to start my second year at UT Austin, and Lisa's starting freshman year at UM."

"UM?"

"University of Miami," Lisa says. "I got into KU too, but I'm just not ready to give up beaches yet."

Dean nods to acknowledge her point—she's pretty tan, and Dean can picture her lying on a towel on some beach in California, working on that tan.

"So what are you two doing here, if you're both going to different places?" he asks.

Lisa opens the door to the stairwell, and Anna and Dean follow close behind. But a pair of girls holding a large crate between them appears at the bottom of the flight, and they have to back up to the landing to let them pass.

"We helped Cas move in," Lisa says, and Anna gives her a _look_. Strange.

"What about his family?" Dean asks.

"It's um, it's personal. We really shouldn't say," Anna says, and fuck if it doesn't make Dean even more curious. But he wouldn't want people pestering his friends about his family, so he just nods.

"Anyway, it was fun," Lisa says, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "We took turns driving here from California. I've always wanted to go on a cross-country road trip, and when I get to Florida, I'll have done it."

"Yeah, good for you," Anna says, rolling her eyes.

"So I'm guessing your next stop is Texas?"

"Yep," Anna replies as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

Still up front, Lisa opens the door and promptly jumps out to throw her arms around Cas.

"Dean," Cas says, surprised, arms full of Lisa. Dean wonders if there's something going on between them, because if that's the case, he's definitely not gonna try anything with her.

"Yeah, hey," Dean says. "They asked me to come along—that all right with you?"

"It's fine," Cas answers.

"So… lunch?" Anna prompts.

"Yeah," Cas says. "Actually, Dean's a local—why don't you show us a good place to eat around here?"

Dean chuckles. "You guys have got a car, right?" When Anna nods, Dean says, "Great. I've got just the place in mind."

* * *

Lunch goes surprisingly well, and Castiel feels a lot more comfortable around his roommate when they get back.

He says goodbye to Anna and Lisa, thanks them over and over again for doing this for him because neither of them would have had to _drive_ all this way if it weren't for him. Lisa's family is really rich—they'd wanted to fly her out to Miami first-class and just send movers to meet her there. And Anna's already settled in an apartment in Austin, so she also could've flown back. They offered before he'd even thought to ask, and he just can't thank them enough.

"So," Dean's saying, and Castiel looks up from his laptop screen to meet stunningly green eyes, "Anna and Lisa seem pretty nice."

"Yes. They're my closest friends."

Dean seems to consider this before asking, "You into either of them?"

It takes Castiel a moment to understand what he's asking. "_Oh_, no. No, not at all. I suppose I should tell you now that I'm gay."

Dean blinks a few times but doesn't react negatively, and Castiel takes that as a good sign. He's heard things about how people in the Midwest might not take the news of his homosexuality all that well, but then there've always been stereotypes about how liberal California is, and he hasn't been accepted in his own family, so he knows not to pay attention to these things.

"Oh," Dean says. "I didn't pick up that vibe from you at all."

Really? Well, at least it means Castiel's ogling can't have been completely blatant. "Is it going to be a problem?" Castiel asks. "I'd like to get any issues out before we become friends."

Dean laughs a little. "What, we're not friends yet?"

"I have standards."

"Ouch," Dean says, but he looks amused rather than offended. "Standards, huh? What kinda standards are we talking, here? Is it because I'm not pretty enough?"

Castiel barely stops himself from blurting out _you're too pretty_. Instead he repeats, "Is it going to be a problem?"

Dean's expression sobers. "No, Cas. It's not. I'm not gay, but I know some guys who are, and I'm cool with it. Don't worry."

"Thanks."

"Yeah no, it's fine. I figure it's none of my business whether other people like guys or girls," Dean says, and Castiel gives him a small smile. Then Dean asks, "So what have I gotta do to be friends with you, hmm?"

And Castiel's smile widens, because Dean just did it. But what he says is, "Oh, it's a secret. Maybe I'll tell you someday, but… we'll see."

"Aw come on, man. What's with the secrecy? That's no fun."

Castiel doesn't answer, and Dean eventually rolls his eyes and goes back to hanging up posters on the walls. Castiel watches him for a little while before tearing his eyes away and gluing them to the screen in front of him.

Nope. He needs to keep his eyes to himself and his heart safely locked away. Dean's beautiful and charming and _beautiful_, and he really can't let himself fall for that, because he saw the way Dean was looking at Anna and Lisa over lunch, and Dean's straight. Definitely straight. And if he were gay, he definitely would've said so when Castiel brought it up.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean barks suddenly, and Castiel's head jerks up. God, those _eyes_… "Does this look straight to you?"

Castiel forces himself to look at the huge Led Zeppelin poster that Dean's holding against the wall, standing on top of his bed to reach. "Yeah. It looks great," he answers.

"Thanks," Dean says, cracking a smile, and Castiel feels a lurch in his chest.

This isn't going to end well.


	5. The Storm

**A/N:** There's a storm. Warning for rimming in the second part; stop at the line break if you don't want to read it.

**V. The Storm**

Castiel curls up on the couch with his cup of hot chocolate and draws the blanket back up around him with his free hand. The news is still blaring on the television, talks about flooding all around the city—especially in his neighborhood.

Freak storms in January. Who would've thought?

He'd been at Dean's two evenings ago for his birthday dinner—neither Sam nor Mr. Winchester could make it home—when the rain started falling. By sometime past midnight, when he was preparing to leave, it had turned into a deluge, but he'd managed to get home safely in a cab.

Of course, the rain didn't let up for the next day, and the winds only got worse. That night, just as Castiel was cranking up the heater, the power cut off. According to Dean, who still had access to news from the outside world, all the power lines from his neighborhood—and numerous other parts of the city—had been taken down by the high-speed winds. It hadn't taken _too_ much convincing for Castiel to let Dean come over and pick him up. After all, Castiel wasn't overly fond of the prospect of freezing his balls off.

He tunes out the reporter and cups the steaming mug between both hands, lost in thought.

Castiel doesn't like staying at Dean's house—mansion—whatever. He doesn't like how familiar he's become with layout of the rooms, the feel of the furniture in each room, the fucking arrangement of the cutlery in the kitchen. It speaks of a relationship that he really doesn't have with Dean, and that hurts.

Another thing Castiel doesn't like is having so much free time, because he inevitably ends up sinking into thoughts that he'd be better off not thinking. It's easy to pour himself into his work, even if he's sick and tired of reading papers about ancient art and architecture, or museums and cases on _state theft_ and _wartime looting_, because that's somehow become part of his repertoire as well. He _abhors_ being idle.

_My mind rebels at stagnation—give me problems, give me work…_

He's never been as observant or quick-witted as Sherlock Holmes, but in this he can completely relate. What is he supposed to do at times like these, when the newscaster is droning on and on in a monotone, and the rain is pouring down endlessly, and the university's closed until the rain lets up and people can actually go back on the streets again?

"Cas?"

Dean's voice is faint, coming from upstairs, and still gravelly with sleep. Castiel isn't sure why Dean bothers calling for him. He should be used to waking up without Castiel there, shouldn't he? Castiel refuses to believe that Dean calls out for him every morning after.

Dean doesn't actually make an appearance until about twenty minutes later, clad in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, hair mussed and imprints of the sheets still on his cheeks.

"Mornin', Cas," he says with a small smile.

Castiel nods blankly. He still feels off, like he needs something to hold onto, something to focus on.

"You okay, man?"

"This… doesn't agree with me."

"What doesn't agree with you?"

"Inactivity. I need something to work on, but I have nothing. All of my papers are graded, I finished typing up those reports yesterday, and now…"

"Dude. Relax, then. You know you don't have to be working every second of every day, don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I know that. It's just that I…" Just that he doesn't like sitting at Dean's house-mansion with nothing to do but be reminded of Dean by every single thing in sight.

"You…?" Dean prompts, reminding Castiel that he never finished his thought.

"Never mind."

Dean exhales noisily and plops down on the couch beside Castiel, jostling him.

"Careful!" Castiel yelps, but the hot chocolate is already halfway gone, and it's lukewarm by now, wouldn't have burned him even if it _had_ sloshed out.

Dean just chuckles and takes the cup from him, reaching over to set it down on the coffee table before tugging at Castiel's blanket.

"Hey, get your own," Castiel protests petulantly.

"C'mon, it's _my_ blanket. Share," Dean insists, and then he's worming his way under the thick cover and pulling Castiel into his chest.

Castiel huffs grumpily but doesn't struggle, letting Dean rearrange their limbs until he's comfortable. They end up turned sideways, Dean leaning back against an armrest with Castiel settled between his legs. The blanket gets tangled around their legs with all the shuffling, but Dean jerks it free and pulls it over both of them before wrapping his arms around Castiel.

"God, why are you watching the _news?_ You're so _boring_," Dean complains, and Castiel just laughs. "Where's the remote?"

"Armrest."

Dean glances at the armrest over by their feet, and when Castiel looks up at his face, it's clear that Dean's calculating whether or not it'd be worth it to reach all the way over for it—it _does_ look ridiculously far away, now that they're wrapped together in this warm cocoon.

"Ugh, you suck," Dean mutters, and it appears the warmth has won over Dean's boredom.

"I find your lack of interest in current events mildly troubling," Castiel comments, and Dean groans.

"Cas, who even _says_ shit like that?"

"Apparently, I do."

Castiel can practically _feel_ Dean rolling his eyes at that. But Dean doesn't answer, and they fall silent. Dean leans forward slightly and rubs his cheek against Castiel's temple before pressing a light kiss to it, and Castiel hates the skip in his heartbeat at that, hates the things that these gestures do to him. Dean's a tactile person—this is how he seeks comfort in other people. It doesn't mean anything more than that.

"Can you please just relax?" Dean murmurs, and his words come out against the skin of Castiel's neck, because apparently he dropped his head while Castiel wasn't paying attention. Of course, feeling Dean's lips there makes him tense up involuntarily.

"Sorry," Castiel responds, forcing his body to go lax. He's gotten very skilled at this, at forcing heaviness into his limbs, at leaning back into the hard warmth of Dean's chest. If anything, he's gotten too good at it, too used to it. And when he loses this, when this isn't allowed anymore, it's going to kill him.

When the tension eases out of Castiel's body, Dean practically purrs with contentment, and it says something that Dean can tell the exact moment when Castiel relaxes. He presses one, two, three quick kisses to the bend of Castiel's neck before lifting his head again.

"Mm, this is great," he mumbles.

"What—are you falling asleep, already? You literally _just_ woke up."

"Not going anywhere," Dean continues as though he hasn't spoken, and Castiel wonders whether Dean's not half-asleep already, because he's not making much sense.

"Yeah, I get that, you lazy ass."

"Rain's awesome."

Castiel sighs and resigns himself to a morning trapped on the couch with a sleepy—sleeping?—and thus useless-as-a-distraction Dean.

* * *

"Cas, _come on_," Dean groans.

Castiel ignores him, focusing on laving across Dean's hip instead. He's just worked his way—licking, kissing, biting, sucking— down Dean's body, head to toe and then right back up again. He's been taking his time, hasn't given Dean's cock any attention at all, and he knows just how desperate Dean must be feeling right now.

He sucks a mark into that delicious hip, and Dean makes a frustrated sound. "Fucking—blow me, Cas."

Castiel lifts his head up so that he can look at Dean, up the long length of delectable torso stretched out before him. "I thought we'd agreed that it's my turn tonight."

Last night, starting around seven pm, Dean fucked him five or six times—he's not sure because he fucking _lost count_ between orgasms—punctuated by one or two-hour breaks, and by the time they collapsed after the last round, the sun was up already. Castiel spent most of today crashed on the couch in the upstairs den, recovering.

So yes, tonight it's his turn to take what he wants, and his ass is _still_ fucking sore after the marathon of battering it took last night, so Dean's just gonna have to suck it up and deal.

"Ugh, you're such a _dick_, Cas," Dean complains as Castiel grabs his hips and manhandles him until he's on his hands and knees.

"Haven't done your back yet," Castiel mutters, crawling up until he's settled over Dean, arms braced on either side of his broad back. It's a bit of a stretch to reach the bed because Castiel's arms are shorter than Dean's, so Dean drops down onto his elbows.

And then Castiel gets to work on Dean's back, mouthing down the back of his neck and across to his right shoulder, down to his right shoulder blade, and back up to the base of his neck again. He bites down here, and Dean tenses, lets out a gasp of surprise. Castiel loves pulling that small, vulnerable sound out of him, loves that Dean trusts him enough to let him do it.

Dean's posture is stiff, though, because he hasn't taken it up the ass before, and Castiel can sense his discomfort with the feeling of Castiel's dick pressed so close to his entrance. So he takes it slowly, nips and kisses his way down Dean's smooth, smooth skin, unmarred except for a few errant freckles, and _god_, he's never appreciated the muscle definition in Dean's back as much as he does right now.

_You're beautiful_, he doesn't say. _I love you_, he doesn't add.

By the time Castiel's about halfway down Dean's back, Dean has relaxed much more, head bent down to rest on his hands. His muscles flex now and then when Castiel's lips make contact, and he's sweating slightly—the heat in the bedroom is ramped up high because it's so cold outside.

Castiel pauses his trip down Dean's back when he hits the two dimples of bone, just before the swell of Dean's ass. He tongues at the left dip, open-mouthed and sloppy, and Dean groans, his entire body shuddering. Castiel catalogues that reaction and does the same for the other side, loving that the only taste in his mouth is—and has been for the last twenty minutes or so—_Dean_.

"C'mon, Cas, finish up," Dean urges in a low voice, and Castiel's almost surprised by how fucked-out it sounds, given that Dean hasn't blown him recently.

Castiel shifts lower and bites down on Dean's ass, earning him a startled yelp followed immediately by an indignant growl. "My turn," Castiel chides Dean softly, and Dean subsides without further protest. Castiel takes his time laving over the indentations left by his teeth and then pressing soft kisses into Dean's cheeks, something he's sure Dean would tease him about if he weren't so strung-out.

Dean doesn't seem to notice at first when Castiel uses both hands to spread his cheeks slightly, because he stiffens abruptly at the first touch of Castiel's tongue at his hole.

"C-Cas?"

This isn't something they've done before—in fact, Castiel's never actually gone anywhere near Dean's ass—isn't even something they've _talked_ about before. But Castiel feels sure, sure that Dean will like this, that Dean trusts him.

"Shh, relax," Castiel breathes into the dark heat of him, thumbs rubbing against Dean's cheeks even as he spreads them farther. Dean's hips shift uneasily, and Castiel just leans in, swipes his tongue across the tight furl of muscle once, just tasting, before lapping over it again, again.

"Oh—_oh_—_oh, fuck_—" Dean's gasping, and his hips seem to push back toward Castiel involuntarily.

Castiel makes sure Dean doesn't move too much, holding him mostly still as he starts to press forward, and it's been a long time since he last did this, _years_ since he first tried it, and he really can't remember whether they were all this sensitive, or if it's just Dean. He hesitates, grip loosening on Dean's hips to give him the opportunity to squirm away.

But Dean shifts back, grinds back into his face, and Castiel could never turn down so blatant an invitation.

He lets his mouth fall wider open, works his tongue against Dean's opening, twists against the tightness until just the tip gets inside—_Jesus, fuck!_ Dean bites out—and once the tip is in, he just has to _push_ into that heat. And Dean's _tight_—never been touched, of course he'd be—and Castiel can't help but imagine how it'd feel to have this surrounding his cock, or hell, even his fingers.

Dean presses back against his tongue, and Castiel withdraws, thrusts, withdraws, thrusts, licks into him firmly and implacably.

"Cas—Cas, _fuck_—"

That's Dean panting, _whimpering_, as Castiel jabs his tongue into his body, filthy wet and needing. Castiel works his way in, deeper, and hears the way Dean's voice drops, feels the way Dean's body is winding tighter and tighter, and _Christ_, is he really so close, from this? But Castiel might have teased too long, and Dean keens, losing control of his hips as he rocks back to meet Castiel's tongue.

And then Dean is seizing, moaning, muscles undulating around Castiel's tongue, come splashing down onto the sheets, and Castiel can hardly believe that this—this is _for him_—he _did_ this.

Dean collapses against the bed, breathing hard, and Castiel crawls back up over him to press a few sloppy, openmouthed kisses against his shoulder.

"Holy _fuck_, Cas," Dean slurs, and his eyelids are drooping, his voice sounds _hoarse_.

"Hmm," Castiel hums in response, and he nips the back of Dean's neck, right where a dark bruise is blossoming. He starts to back off, but Dean reaches a hand back to grab at him.

"But… you didn't…" Dean protests halfheartedly.

Castiel smiles, leans down to kiss Dean's neck one more time before brushing his hand off and crawling out of bed, tugging the covers up and over Dean—he'd stay for a few minutes, but it'll be hard to leave once Dean's got a hold of him. Dean's eyes are already closed, breathing evening out, and it makes sense that after last night's marathon, all of tonight's teasing would wear him out.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel whispers before taking off for the guest room.


	6. The Beginning

**A/N:** Dean remembers their first night together a whole lot better than Cas does.

**VI. The Beginning**

"It's _over?_ What are you trying to say, 'it's over'?"

"I'm saying just that. This, this relationship is over," Dean says.

Lisa stares at him. "And… that's it. That's all you have to say. No reason why, no explanation at all, just—it's _over_."

"Hey, you told me you knew what you were getting into," Dean says defensively.

"Well, _yeah_. But this… this is really abrupt. We've been together for almost two years, Dean. I thought that if we were going to break, there'd at least be some signs."

"Oh, there've been signs."

"Bullshit."

Dean shrugs. "What do you want me to say? I've lost interest, and that's it. I can break it to Ben myself, if you want me to."

"Oh, Ben's going to be fine," Lisa says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not as though you're leaving the state, or dying, or something. Wait—you're _not_ dying, right?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, because I don't wanna have to cry for you right after getting dumped by you."

"Aw, you'd cry if I died?"

"Fuck you."

It's silent for a moment, and then Dean starts up in a lighter tone, "Hey uh, this—"

"No," Lisa says, cutting him off. "You don't get to say something stupid and make this into less than it was. We weren't just fuck buddies, no matter what you think. And I don't care if we both knew this wasn't permanent—you still don't have the _right_ to just fucking break it off like this, like I've meant _nothing_ to you—"

"Hey, that isn't fair," Dean protests.

"—all this time," Lisa continues, as though Dean isn't speaking, "even after everything that we've been through together."

"Lise, hey. This really doesn't have anything to do with you. I—"

"Of _course_ it has to do with me, Dean. I'm half of this fucking relationship. And before you try to explain, I _get_ that it's not my fault. You don't have to tell me that."

"Well all right, then. I don't have anything else to say."

Lisa seems disappointed. "I'm not asking you to stay, Dean. All I want is a reason why it's ending. Why you're doing this. I thought… I thought everything was fine."

The way her voice breaks a little on the 'fine' hurts Dean, and he has to look away, unable to meet her eyes. He still likes what they have—_had_—but he doesn't feel the same about it anymore. It's different now. And he hates thinking about it, hates analyzing his _feelings_, so he just wants to bury away the cause and deal with the _off-_ness by ending it.

"I'm sorry," is all Dean can bring himself to say.

Lisa gives him a hard look. "Well, I don't care for your apologies. I have to get to the gym—class starts in ten minutes."

Right, yoga instructor. That's something Dean's gonna miss about Lisa.

"Earth to Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I have to go to the gym," Lisa repeats. "Means you're gonna have to go. And while you're still here, give me back my key."

Dean looks down at her extended palm and hesitates for a moment before reaching into his pocket to pull out his set of keys. He fumbles with them, picks out the key to her apartment, and works it off the chain.

"So I'll… see you later," he says, pressing the key into her hand.

"Yeah," she responds with a forced smile. "Better later than sooner."

When Lisa continues to look at him expectantly, Dean ducks his head and turns around, exiting the apartment as fast as he can. He doesn't slow down until he's out in the street, walking down the sidewalk toward the spot where he parked his car.

It's dark now—the sun set about an hour ago—and he doesn't know what he's going to do. He knew that he had to break up with Lisa, that he couldn't keep up the semblance of normalcy when he felt so wrong inside. But now that he's done it, he can't help but wonder if he rushed into it, if he couldn't have given himself just a little bit more time with her.

No, he decides as he gets into the Impala and shuts the door, resting his hands on the steering wheel. No, more time wouldn't have changed things at all. He'd end up feeling this way anyway—the only difference would be that it'd happen a bit later. Maybe a week or two, or a month later, tops.

Yeah, he's definitely right about breaking up. The heaviness in his chest is mostly guilt at having caused her pain, but that will go away. He has experience with this, though his relationship with Lisa is probably one of the longest he's ever sustained with a girlfriend, except for Anna.

But he's not thinking about that. Not right now.

Because no matter how much he wants to deny the cause for his need to break up with Lisa, deep down he knows that it all comes down to Cas. He's known for a while that he finds some guys attractive. Known since his second year of college, when he had that really hot grad student for a TA. There've been a few others here and there who've caught his eye since then, but he's never really thought about Cas that way, because by the time he'd made his revelation, they'd been friends for just over a year and Cas was just… _Cas_.

That is, not until a few weeks ago. He can't explain what it is, refuses to think too hard about it, but he _knows_ that it started at Ben's birthday party, that it has to do with Ben's flirty preschool teacher and the way Cas looked at him. Since then there's been something about Cas that just makes him want to grab and _take_. It's only gotten worse, and the more he tries to ignore it, the more insistent it is.

He and Cas have been close since freshman year, and they've always been comfortable in each other's company. But thanks to Dean's new… _urges_, it's been difficult to be around Cas. And that's not acceptable, so what's he gonna do about it?

Well. It's an itch that he's been trying to ignore. And in Dean's logic, if an itch won't go away when it's being ignored, the only thing left to do is to scratch it.

As soon as that thought surfaces, Dean's mind latches onto it, supplying images of Cas spread out beneath him, pliant and needy. He's wrestled with Cas before, knows what it feels like to get the better of him, to pin him down and keep him there. And fuck, okay, now he's hard.

The next thing he knows, he's holding his phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone.

"Hello?"

"Cas! Hey," Dean says, and he curses himself for sounding so breathy. What the _fuck_, seriously. "You free tonight?"

* * *

Dean tips back his fourth shot of the night and leans back on the ratty couch to look at Cas. Cas, who's sprawled out beside him, arms spread wide along the back of the couch, head tipped back to expose the long, pale column of his throat. Dean's suddenly gripped by the urge to mark that neck, to fasten his teeth on Cas's pulse point and leave a dark, pretty bruise on that perfect skin.

But he knows that he's not nearly drunk enough to be able to pull moves on Cas without being questioned, without being stopped, and Dean doesn't think he'll handle rejection all that well when all he's been able to think about in the past week's jerk-off sessions has been Cas—Cas's hand, Cas's mouth, on him.

Cas, on the other hand… Dean knows Cas well enough to tell that he is getting close to the point where he's drunk enough to not remember things clearly the morning after. Dean briefly considers joining him in that state, but he quickly dismisses that option—if there's no repeat performance, Dean's going to want to remember this.

Cas turns his head toward Dean, wide, blue eyes fixed on him, and observes, "You're not drunk. I thought you came over to get drunk."

His words are slurred. Score.

Dean leans in, and he's positive that he isn't imagining the way Cas's breath hitches as he does so. "Maybe I came over to get _you_ drunk," he murmurs.

"Why?" Cas breathes, nearly going cross-eyed as Dean comes even closer.

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but he's never liked using his words, so he just tips forward and closes the distance between their mouths. Cas gasps, and then he freezes up, body rigid. Dean pulls back, heart pounding. That might've been a colossally bad idea.

"Why did you do that?" Cas whispers, as though he's afraid of Dean actually hearing him.

"Because I wanted to," Dean answers, and it's not even partially a lie. He _wants_ Cas, wants him in a way that he hasn't wanted anyone in a long while. Wants him so much that he hardly knows what to do with himself. And as this occurs to him, Dean realizes that one night won't be enough, that he'll need more after this.

But that's something to worry about later, not now, not when the pupils of those large, blue eyes are steadily dilating.

"You're… joking?" Cas asks, and he sounds strangely small and vulnerable at this moment.

"Not joking, Cas," Dean says, not afraid to be honest because Cas won't remember this. He leans in, placing his lips by Cas's ear, and says in a low voice, "I want you, Cas, any way that you'll have me."

But Cas—Cas _laughs_, and Dean doesn't get it.

"What's so funny?"

"You. Wanting me. That's funny," Cas replies, and Dean's exasperated, now.

"How the hell is that funny?"

Cas's smile fades, and he says seriously, "You're straight."

"Not exactly," Dean answers, and Cas chuckles.

"Yeah. Right."

And because Dean's officially sick of this conversation, he leans back in and presses their lips together for the second time. Cas goes still again, but Dean ignores it this time, opening his mouth to lick at the seam of Cas's lips, pressing forward to force Cas's mouth open. It doesn't take much coaxing, and next thing Dean knows, Cas is kissing right back, wet and sloppy and perfect.

When Dean pulls back to breathe, Cas's hands are framing his face, warm palms resting against his cheeks.

"You can't be serious," Cas whispers, and Dean isn't sure who he's trying to convince—Dean or himself.

"I'm very serious," Dean says as Cas's thumbs rub back and forth along his cheekbones.

Cas's expression shifts minutely, and then he's pressing Dean back into the couch, sliding to the ground to kneel between Dean's knees. "Serious, hmm?" Cas says, and his eyes are challenging, like he's calling Dean's bluff.

Except… Dean's not bluffing. So he just watches, waits to see what drunk Cas will come up with.

When it becomes apparent that Dean's not backing down, Cas drops his gaze from Dean's face to his crotch, and god, Dean's hard, has been since Cas gave in to the kiss. Cas hooks his hands around the backs of Dean's calves and tugs gently, prompting Dean to scoot forward. Then Cas's long, thin fingers are unfastening Dean's belt buckle, unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping his fly. Dean hisses at the release of pressure.

Cas leans forward to mouth at Dean's cock through his boxers, and Dean wants to close his eyes at the sensation, but he can't take his eyes off the image of Cas like this. Cas slips his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Dean lifts his hips, helping Cas pull off his jeans and underwear. The air in the apartment is cool, bordering on cold, and Dean shivers when he's exposed.

But in the next moment, Cas's hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, and his mouth is opening around the head.

"Cas—_fuck_," Dean bites out, resisting the impulse to thrust as he's engulfed in heat.

He wants to keep watching Cas when he starts bobbing up and down. But blue eyes flash up at his face, Cas pulls up to tongue at the frenulum, and Dean's eyes roll back into his head. His hips shift, barely restrained, and a fucking _whine_ escapes his throat when Cas sinks, sinks, sinks until Dean's hitting the back of his throat.

"Fuck—_Jesus_, Cas—" Dean grits out, voice cracking, and oh fucking hell, _Cas knows how to deep-throat_—_Cas_ is _deep-throating_ him.

Then Cas starts swallowing around him, the walls of his throat convulsing perfectly, and Dean thinks it's a good thing Cas is a forgetful drunk and won't remember this in the morning, because it's about to be over embarrassingly fast.

But suddenly Cas pulls off, hand wrapping tightly around the base of Dean's cock, and Dean thinks he could cry at the injustice of being abandoned _right_ on the fucking edge.

"Cas, you _fucker_," he complains.

Cas just grins, looking like a friggin' predator, and gets to his feet, slowly loosening the grip on Dean's dick. "Don't move an inch—I'll be right back. Though you _can_ get rid of the shirt," he says, and his usually graveled voice is even hoarser, fucked-out, and god_damn_, that is hot.

As Cas staggers off toward his bedroom, Dean tugs his t-shirt up and over his head. And then he seriously considers just finishing himself off here, because he needs to come right the fuck now. But before he can act on the impulse, he hears a crash in the bedroom, and he's hovering between sitting and standing when Cas shouts, "_Don't move!_"

He's back in the next moment, naked, with a bottle of lube and a foil packet in hand. Oh fuck, this is really happening. Dean lowers his ass back down to the couch, and just in time, too, because as soon as he's seated, he's got a lapful of Cas—_naked_ Cas—_very aroused_, naked Cas—and suddenly he has no idea what to do, where to put his hands.

Cas smiles obligingly and says, "Need me to help you out?"

Without waiting for a response, Cas grabs Dean's hand and squeezes some lube over his fingers. Then he's leaning forward to kiss Dean, and Dean's only dimly aware of Cas guiding his hand behind his back and down, down…

When Dean's fingers come into contact with the tight rim of Cas's hole, he breaks the kiss. "Oh, fuck. Cas, you—you sure about this?" he asks breathily.

Cas gets this pissy look on his face and rakes his nails down Dean's bare chest hard—_ouch—_but Dean can't even complain because the bastard also rolls his hips forward. The motion aligns their dicks together, and Dean's head tips back on a moan. "I don't know, Dean. _Am_ I sure? What do you think?" Cas growls at him, and then he's lifting his hips and fucking _gyrating_ on Dean's lap.

"Cas—_fuck_—don't be a dick," Dean manages, gripping Cas's waist and holding him still.

Cas shifts impatiently and leans forward to press their mouths together again. Dean continues to hold Cas in place and starts rutting upward, the glide of their cocks against each other slick and hot and glorious in a way that Dean would never have expected. He's ninety-nine percent sure that he could come, just like this. Right now. Yeah, now would be _perfect_.

Dean doesn't even register the absence of Cas's hands from the equation until one of them lands on his shoulder, nails digging in lightly, and he opens his eyes. Cas breaks the kiss but keeps their foreheads pressed together, allowing Dean a close-up look at the long, dark lashes resting on his pale cheeks, and all Dean can think is that this, _this_ is what he's wanted to see whenever he looked at Lisa in the past… however-many days, or weeks. He really can't think straight right now.

Cas's free hand is gripping Dean's cock again, only this time he's lifting himself up onto his knees, head bent down to stay in contact with Dean, and Dean's breathing speeds up as he realizes that Cas must have been fingering himself open for him.

"C—condom?" he blurts out, remembering the foil packet Cas had brought from his room.

Cas groans as though it's the end of the world and looks around for it, and Dean collects himself enough to look down at the couch on either side of himself.

"Where—" Dean starts.

"I'm clean," Cas interrupts. "You?"

"Think so."

"Forget the condom, then," Cas says, shutting his eyes again, and before Dean can start to protest, Cas is lowering himself down, guiding Dean's cock into himself in a long, slow slide.

"Oh my _god_," Dean moans, long and drawn out, because Cas's hole is slippery with lube, tighter than anyone he's ever fucked, and he already feels seconds away from coming.

Cas just single-mindedly works his way down, little huffs escaping his lips now and then, and Dean wants him to _stop_, but he needs him to _keep going_, and he has no fucking clue how anyone ever lasts through anal sex if assholes are all this tight.

And then, finally, Cas is pressed all the way down, panting a little, and Dean tilts his head up slightly to kiss him. "Okay?" Dean murmurs, and Cas nods.

"_Oh_, yeah. Hell, yeah," Cas responds, eyes flashing open, and Dean can't stop staring at them, the way the black has almost overtaken the blue, evidence of Cas's _want_ right there in front of him.

Cas braces himself with his hands on Dean's shoulders and starts slowly lifting himself off of Dean. When Dean's just about to slip out, Cas's lips curl upward, just a bit, and for an instant he looks completely _evil_.

Oh, Dean is _so fucked_.

Cas slams down, _hard_, forcing all the air from Dean's lungs. After that he doesn't stop, strong thighs tensing and relaxing as he lifts up and drops back down, fucking himself on Dean's cock. And the sounds he makes are positively _obscene_—breathy gasps, loud moans, grunts that sound suspiciously like _Dean_, all on top of the lewd, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin.

Dean grips Cas's hips in an attempt to get some control, but Cas _snarls_ at him and grinds down harder, jerking his hips slightly to get Dean's hands to loosen up. And okay, if Cas wants control over the whole show, he's got it.

Suddenly Cas drops into Dean's lap and stays there, rocking his hips in small motions, and he keeps making these needy whining noises, _whimpering_. Dean's heard things about prostate stimulation, and he thinks this, what Cas is doing right here, this has gotta be an example of that. He wonders if Cas can come from just this, because he's definitely heard about dudes who can come untouched, and that would be unbelievably fucking hot.

Cas brings Dean back to the present when his nails rake down Dean's chest again, and Dean doesn't think he ever had much of a thing for pain before, but wow, this hurts in a _good_ way. He bucks his hips up slightly, just one quick jerk, and Cas gasps—_Dean!_—in a voice so cracked that Dean hardly recognizes it. So he repeats the motion and gets another delicious mewl from Cas.

"Oh god, Dean—_fuck—_"

Cas's legs go completely lax, and Dean takes that as an invitation to fuck up into his tight heat. He feels hyperaware of every noise Cas makes, helpless to resist, and he adjusts the angle a few times to find the ones that pull the best sounds out of Cas's throat. He hits the jackpot several thrusts later and continues fucking from that angle, soaking up Cas's near-delirious cries.

"Oh, yeah," Dean breathes, getting a better grip on Cas and _yanking_ him down to meet his thrusts, "gonna come like this? _Can_ you? Fuck—come on—oh—_oh, yeah_—c'mon, Cas—"

And god, Cas is going nuts, head buried in the crook of Dean's neck like he wants to stay there forever—all the thrusting means that his head bumps against Dean's shoulder a few times, but then he fixes the problem by just _sinking his teeth_ _into Dean's neck_, and somehow that is not okay but also the best thing ever at the same time. Cas's nails are running free down Dean's torso again, and for a moment Dean's brain tells him that tomorrow morning it's gonna look like he pissed off a cat really, _really_ bad, but he can't bring himself to care, not when Cas is trying—unsuccessfully—to muffle his sex sounds by _biting Dean_.

And then Cas's hole suddenly clenches impossibly tighter, spasms around Dean, and Dean's digging his fingers into Cas's hips and coming hard, hips still stuttering upward as he pumps into Cas. He's barely aware of Cas crying out, of the thick, hot strings of come shooting up between their torsos.

Dean thinks he blacks out for a while, because the next thing he remembers is Cas kissing his cheek, nice and chaste and sweet, and Dean has no idea what to do with that, not after the mind-shattering orgasm he just had.

Cas drops his face to the base of Dean's neck. "Hmm," he hums, lips pressed against the bite mark that he's no-doubt left behind. Yeah, Dean's definitely gonna return that favor, any minute now. As soon as he doesn't feel like his entire body is made of jello.

"Cas," he slurs, "freakin' amazing."

"Understatement," Cas responds, and Dean can't believe Cas is using four-syllable words when he's reduced to grunting fragments of sentences.

After they've both recovered a bit, Cas crawls off Dean's lap, wincing a little. Dean opens his mouth to apologize, but Cas shoots him a look that clearly means _don't even start_, so he shuts his mouth again. Cas lifts both his arms over his head and stretches, cat-like, and Dean's seen him do this in the past, something about it being good for waking up his limbs, but it's never gone straight to his dick like this before, and it's way too fucking early for Dean to be able to get hard again, but his cock gives a little twitch anyway.

"Hey—Cas," Dean says, and Cas looks down at him, eyes back to that startling shade of blue that Dean hasn't ever seen in anyone else's eyes. "Round two, bed. 'Kay?"

"Who says there's gonna be a round two?" Cas answers, grinning down at him.

Dean gets to his feet, trying to think of a comeback, but he's just had his brains fucked right out of him, and he's covered in Cas's jizz, and he's got nothing. So he just leans down and presses his mouth to Cas's, kisses the smirk right off his lips.

And when Dean pulls back, those wide, blue eyes seem softer, and Cas breathes, quietly, "Yeah, okay."


	7. The Breaking Point

**A/N:** An arrangement like this can last only so long before they reach the breaking point, really.

**VII. The Breaking Point**

Castiel wakes up as soon as the lights in the hallway flick on—he's always been a light sleeper.

But he feigns sleep, burrowing farther under the covers and snuffling softly. He hears Dean move quietly into the bedroom, hears the door close with a barely audible click. He hears Dean stripping down—the soft sound as Dean's shirt hits the ground, the clanking sound of a belt buckle being undone, the slow downward drag of a zipper.

And then the cover lifts up, and Dean's crawling in behind him, one hand curling around his bare hip in an extremely familiar way. Dean shifts forward, pressing their bodies together, and Castiel can't begin to express just how much he's missed this, the intimacy of being naked together, just touching.

"Mm," Castiel murmurs in a voice raspy with sleep. "You're late."

"Sorry, flight got delayed," Dean mutters back as he plants kisses from Castiel's shoulder up his neck, to his jaw. "Were you waiting long?"

"What do you think?" Castiel responds, twisting in Dean's arms so that he can reach his lips.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Dean says, each apology punctuated with a chaste kiss to Castiel's lips. "Let me make it up to you."

"Hmm. What did you have in mind?"

Dean doesn't answer verbally, pulling Castiel onto his back and settling over him to kiss him properly. Smiling into the kiss, Castiel stretches both arms above his head, long and languid, to wake his limbs. He can definitely get behind this. As he starts to pull his hands back down, Dean reaches up to pin his arms up.

"God, you have skinny wrists," Dean mutters, and Castiel realizes that Dean's holding both his arms up with only one hand.

"Yeah, thanks. That wasn't an emasculating comment at all," Castiel says dryly.

"I didn't mean it in a _bad_ way. I think it's great that I get to pin you so easily."

Castiel responds to this the only way he can—by proving that he's not so easy to pin. He plants both feet firmly on the mattress before surging up with his upper body, simultaneously using his legs to lever Dean over to the side. Castiel rolls with him, twisting his wrists out of Dean's grasp and sitting up to straddle Dean's thighs.

"Easy, hmm?" he says, hands grasping Dean's arms—one above his head, the other by his side—and pulling them so that they're resting on the pillow on either side of Dean's head.

Dean flexes his forearms. "I could take you down if I really wanted to."

"Try."

Dean chuckles. "How 'bout I just admit defeat right here, and we get to the main event."

"Tsk, tsk, Dean. No patience at all," Castiel admonishes, and that's perfect, really. It's what he expects from Dean. Dean's been out of town for the past twelve nights, and while Castiel doesn't mind missing out on sex, Dean can hardly stand it.

So Castiel's sure that Dean's desperate for it. And the hard cock jutting up between Dean's legs certainly doesn't disabuse him of the notion. Castiel allows himself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to spend that good forty minutes fingering himself open so that they wouldn't have to bother with prep when Dean got back.

He leans down and mouths at the bolt of Dean's jaw, takes his time sucking a mark there. Dean hums pleasurably and arches beneath him, hips grinding up into Castiel's. Castiel releases one of Dean's hands and snakes his own hand down, wraps it around Dean's cock and jacks him in slow, unhurried strokes intended to work him into a frenzy. But Dean merely rolls his hips into the touch slightly, makes no move to speed up Castiel's pace, and no, he wasn't expecting this reaction.

"Thought about this, you know," Castiel breathes into Dean's ear.

"Mm, yeah," Dean murmurs, comfortable and content-sounding.

And Castiel's officially thrown off. He maintains the slow, teasing rhythm of his strokes on Dean's cock, but he's distracted. Where's the urgency that he's been waiting for?

Then Dean's flipping them over, a predatory gleam in his eye, and Castiel feels relieved, because this is what he knows, what he wants. Dean's hand slips down to tease at Castiel's hole, and when it just gives under his touch, he lets out a low groan.

"Holy fucking shit, Cas. You just couldn't wait, could you?" Dean growls, and three fingers shove into Castiel's ass and thrust several times, unerringly striking his prostate with each pass. Castiel yelps, can't hold it back, and he's grateful that the house is empty but for them. "_Fuck_, yeah. Been waiting to hear you like this," Dean rumbles into Castiel's ear.

Dean's fingers slide out of him, slippery with the lube leftover from Castiel's preparation, and then there's the sound of skin on skin, Dean slicking himself up with the residue on his fingers, and _fuck_, that's ridiculously hot.

"Come on, Dean. Need you inside me," Castiel murmurs, trying to speed things along. Maybe he's been projecting a bit much, and all the desperate _need_ is on his side.

Dean doesn't keep him waiting—Castiel's next breath hitches in his throat as Dean breaches him, slides deep into him with one fluid stroke, and they both groan.

"Still so _tight_, fucking—" Dean holds position, a pleased look on his face, and no, that's not okay.

"Dean. Move," Castiel demands, eyes squeezed shut.

Dean complies more readily than Castiel expected, drawing back and then steadily pressing back in. He pulls out agonizingly slowly, making Castiel curse every fucking _millimeter_ of his dick, and then drives back in forcefully, pushing Castiel up the bed. The sound Castiel makes at that is somewhere between a cry and a moan, and he expects Dean to start fucking in earnest, but the next thing he feels is another excruciatingly slow withdraw.

"_Dean_," he complains, but Dean doesn't change his pace, and this time he thrusts inward just as slowly as he drew out.

Castiel forces his eyes open, only to see Dean's face hovering just above his, strikingly green eyes gazing down at him with such fondness that Castiel _has_ to close his eyes again, _has_ to escape. What… how… how is he supposed to take that?

"Dean,_ please_," he grits out, because he needs more force, more speed, needs to change the dynamic between them, because this… this… whatever this is, he can't take it.

Dean presses a kiss to the his cheek, to the tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and Castiel turns his head to the side, capturing Dean's lips and forcing his tongue inside, trying to change how this feels, trying to make it quick and dirty so that it's more like fucking and not so much like _making love_, and _fuck_ if that isn't exactly what this feels like to Castiel.

Then Dean's chuckling, and goddamn it, this is all probably just a joke to him. He's probably doing what Castiel had intended to do—hold back, go slow to tease Dean, force him to get all desperate. Yeah, that's exactly what Dean would do, exactly what Dean would have in mind. And it's stupid to think of this as anything else, but the thought's already entered his mind, and he can't help it.

The pace picks up slightly, but it's nowhere near the reckless, needy drive that usually fuels their sessions together. This is too slow, too deliberate, and—especially when Castiel peeks between his eyelids to find Dean still watching his face so, so closely—too fucking intimate for Castiel to handle, not within the parameters of their current relationship.

But _Christ_, it feels amazing, the relaxed, fucking _leisurely_ drag of Dean's cock along his insides, the perfect aim Dean's seemed to have since day one, the look in Dean's eyes, as though he's really emotionally invested, as if he actually _loves_—

The thought has Castiel suddenly exploding over both of their bellies, and apparently he was much closer than he'd realized.

And despite the fogginess that orgasm always forces onto his senses, he registers the startled _fuck, Cas_ and the way that Dean's control snaps, all that coiled tension releasing as Dean finally—_finally_—takes what he needs.

As they both come down, Dean pulls out of Castiel and shifts to the side, and Castiel turns slightly away, needs to clear his mind. Because shit, his brain is _stupid_, and why the hell would he _ever_ put "Dean" and "loves" and "Castiel" in the same thought, even if said thought wasn't quite finished. No, he needs to shut that down before it can take root. Needs to shut it down right fucking _now_.

Especially since it's cuddle time, and Dean's gathering Castiel back into his arms, molding his chest to Castiel's back and tangling their legs together.

"_God_, I missed you," Dean murmurs against the back of Castiel's neck a few minutes later, after he's recovered—Castiel can feel the slow and even puffs of breath on his skin.

"Missed you, too," Castiel replies, a hollowness to his voice that Dean's hopefully too tired to notice.

Castiel yawns and glances at the clock on the nightstand. It's already just past two in the morning, and he's still got an appointment to look at some pieces of art tomorrow morning, at about seven thirty. With a sigh, Castiel starts pulling away. But Dean's arms tighten around his middle, pulling Castiel back against his chest.

"Don't go," Dean mumbles.

"What?"

"Stay the night."

Castiel feels his heart rate increasing and hopes to god Dean hasn't noticed. "Dean, I can't. I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I need to get some rest."

"Rest here, then."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Isn't this comfortable?"

It's true that Dean's bed is a lot more comfortable than Castiel's, but of course it is—Dean's family is obscenely wealthy, and Castiel lives in a small apartment on the much more modest side of town.

"It doesn't matter whether or not this is comfortable, Dean. I have to go."

"What the hell, Cas," Dean grumbles, holding on tighter when Castiel redoubles his efforts to get away.

"Let me go," Castiel says in a steady voice, stilling and waiting patiently for Dean to give in.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Dean, there are rules."

"Fuck the rules."

"_Dean_."

"No, seriously," Dean says, lifting himself up onto one elbow so that he can see Castiel's face. Castiel contemplates slipping out now, but Dean's other arm is still in the way, and he doesn't want to wrestle his way out. Meanwhile Dean continues, "We made up these shit rules. If we wanna change them, then what's there to stop us?"

"I don't want to change them," Castiel answers. Isn't it enough that he's at Dean's beck and call whenever Dean wants a good lay? He can't be talked into staying the night and cuddling, not after the stupid stunt his mind just pulled. It's hard enough to keep his attraction toward Dean purely physical. Hell, it's _impossible_, but he's worked so hard to repress and deny, and he isn't giving it up now.

"What?"

"I don't want to change our rules," Castiel says firmly.

"But—"

"Dean, you will not talk me into staying the night. In fact, I recall that you were the one who suggested this particular rule."

"But Cas—"

"Why would you want me to stay, Dean? Answer me this."

"I…" Dean pauses briefly before saying, "I'm just really comfortable here. And really tired from the flight." And Castiel knows that he wouldn't hear the reason he wants, but fuck, somehow he's _still_ disappointed. "Why can't you just stay with me?"

"I'm not here to comfort you, Dean."

"So what, you only want me for my dick?"

"Hasn't that been the basis of our physical relationship thus far?"

"We're friends. You won't stay over for that?" Dean tries.

Castiel places his hands on the back of Dean's arm, tugging at it gently. Dean automatically tightens his hold again. "Do friends do this?" Castiel says. "They don't."

"Well we've been doing this friends with benefits thing for a while, and it's been working great."

"Because we've been following the rules."

"Dude! They're just a few stupid rules. Staying with me for one night isn't going to change anything."

But it will. Castiel's only stayed the night when there was no other choice—when that freak storm was raging—or when Dean was experiencing emotional difficulties and needed the support. Those times haven't changed anything between them.

Staying over for something this casual, Castiel knows that things will change. Just the fact that Dean's so insistent on him staying the night is waking up all sorts of hopeful thoughts in the back of his mind, and come tomorrow morning, he's going to hate himself for not wrestling his way out before this discussion began.

"Let me go, Dean."

"What the hell is your problem? I've been gone for almost two weeks, and you won't spend a bit of extra time with me?"

"We'll both be unconscious soon, anyway. I don't see why you would need my company," Castiel says stiffly.

Dean groans. "Just… Jesus, Cas. Why is this such a big deal to you?"

The fact that Dean doesn't know why it's so important only makes it more important that Castiel leave as soon as he can. He gives a hard tug on Dean's arm and is able to pry it away from his torso, having caught Dean by surprise. But Castiel realizes too late that Dean has a leg pushed forward, between his legs, and it traps his left leg when he tries to get away.

"Fucking—_Cas_," Dean says exasperatedly, rearing up suddenly and shoving Castiel forward. Castiel ends up face down on the bed, Dean's weight pinning him down. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

"You'd keep me here against my will?" Castiel says, ire rising in his chest. Why is Dean so stupid? Does he understand nothing? After so many years of friendship, how can he not see Castiel's heart? How can he not see what this does to him? Even Sam has expressed more concern for Castiel's emotions than Dean has.

"Don't say it like that, Cas."

"I'm saying it like it is."

It's silent for a long moment, and Castiel doesn't even bother struggling. He knows he won't be able to get out when Dean's braced over him like this, caging him in, weighing him down. He wishes he didn't love the familiar weight resting on him, wishes this really could be as easy as _just fucking_.

And then Dean slides off him. "Fine. Go," he says, sullen. "But if you leave, this is over."

Castiel hesitates for a moment as he slides toward the edge of the king-sized bed, but despite the pain in his chest, this is probably all for the best. After all, he's been trying to find a way out of this fucked up relationship, hasn't he? This, being dismissed by Dean, is probably the easiest solution, if not the most painless one.

He gets dressed in silence, and he can _feel_ Dean's angry eyes tracking his movements, _feel_ the frustration rolling off Dean in waves.

At the doorway, he half-turns but doesn't meet the eyes that are still boring into him.

"Goodbye, Dean."

He pulls the door shut behind him and hurries out of the house, grateful that there's no way for him to run into Sam, because his eyes have started tearing up, and the last thing he wants right now is to be _seen_.

The drive home is very quiet, and he feels strangely vacant.

But as soon as he steps into his bedroom back at his apartment, looks at the fading wallpaper and dark blue bedspread under which he and Dean first made—had sex, the enormity of what's just happened finally hits him.

He won't ever get to touch Dean again. Won't get to hear his name in the low timbres to which Dean's voice drops whenever he's aroused.

And knowing Dean's emotional maturity, they won't be able to go back to being normal friends again, not after this. Castiel is sure that he would be able to go back, that he would be able to ignore what happened. Bury it all under some other memories, only pull it out when he wanted to remember what he used to have. But not Dean.

He lets himself fall face-first onto the bed and wonders if he should have just stayed the night.

But no, he shouldn't have. He… he already has these feelings for Dean, yes, but he needs to recover, protect himself, direct these emotions elsewhere.

It's about time he got over Dean, over this unhealthy attachment.


	8. The Fall

**A/N:** This is actually one of my favorite parts in the 'verse. Idk why. It is certainly the one I've reread the most.

Dean goes to Cas's the morning after their fight to apologize. He gets an unpleasant surprise.

**VIII. The Fall**

Dean knows that he's excellent at making breakfast. Cas has told him so more than once, and knowing Cas's remarkable knack at picking out the best foods at the best restaurants, it means a lot when he says that someone's cooking is very good. It helps that Dean knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't lie to Dean to make him feel better about himself. They're closer than that.

Which brings him to the reason why he's in Cas's kitchen at six in the fucking morning, flipping pancakes on the ancient, annoying pan that Cas has—Dean loves making food, but he abhors clean-up, which is why they invented _nonstick_ pans. But he doesn't really know what got into him last night, so he'll apologize by making Cas a bomb breakfast before work, and by doing the clean-up himself.

Two pancakes—blueberry, 'cause those are Cas's favorite; three eggs, because Dean's hoping to mooch one from Cas after he's been forgiven; and a generous serving of bacon later, Dean's scrubbing the stubborn-ass pan in the sink when he hears the click of the front door being unlocked.

He instantly freezes, mind skipping quickly through a number of possibilities.

Could Cas be leaving the apartment early? Is he only just getting in 'cause he was too angry to come home last night? Is it a burglar picking the lock and entering? Did Cas mention any of his brothers coming to visit recently?

Then there's the familiar creak of the front door as it swings open, and Dean hears footsteps in the short hallway leading to the sitting room. And he _knows_ it's not Cas, because Cas would never wear click-clack-y shoes into his apartment, and besides, the rhythm of those footsteps is all wrong.

Dean takes two huge steps out of the kitchen to cut off the intruder and comes face-to-face with a pair of startled, blue-grey eyes shadowed by a prominent brow. The man's nose is long, proud, and his hair is blond, cropped short and gelled neatly in a very put-together style. His thin lips curl up on one side into something between a smirk and a leer, and Dean instantly decides that he doesn't like the guy.

"Dean, right? Dean Winchester?"

"Uh… yeah. Who are you?"

"I thought you and Cas never stayed the night," the man says, ignoring Dean's question.

His eyes drop down, and Dean realizes how ridiculous he must look—pan still gripped tightly in his left hand, right hand clenched into a fist, soapy water up to his fucking elbows, dripping all over the place. A quick glance at the stranger's black, neatly pressed suit jacket, slacks, and tie makes Dean feel even more like a heathen in his threadbare Zeppelin shirt and ratty jeans.

"Though I suppose," the man continues, eyes raking over Dean's body appraisingly and making Dean feel acutely uncomfortable, "I now understand why he's been holding back on moving our relationship to a more physical level."

Dean blinks a few times, mind hardly able to process this. Cas has a… _relationship?_

But his tongue apparently has a mind of its own, because he responds with, "Well, that's just Cas. Doesn't put out on the first date."

"Nor the sixth or the seventh," the blond man answers readily, and Dean just doesn't believe it.

He's only been gone just under two weeks. Twelve days. Cas can't have gone on a date every other night because that's just not Cas, so how long has this been going on? What even… what _is_ this? And if Cas has this, whatever it is, then what is Dean?

"You still haven't explained what you're doing in my boyfriend's kitchen," the man prods.

_Boyfriend._

Dean's brain promptly shuts down. His heart, on the other hand, pounds fierce, hard, and aching in his chest, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"I uh… nothing," he says, fumbling with the words because his head is definitely not onboard with talking to Cas's… Cas's… guy. Friend.

"You look surprised to see me," the man says. "Has Cas not told you about me? Because believe me, I've heard all about you."

Dean just shakes his head.

"Oh, I'm wounded. Well, my name is Balthazar."

The guy—Balthazar—holds his hand out, and Dean stares down at it, still numb. _Get a grip_, he tells himself, but it's about as useful as politely asking a herd of bison to get out of the road.

"Right. You're… soapy," Balthazar says, pulling his hand back.

Dean clears his throat, trying to get a hold of himself. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I was just uh, heading out."

"With a soapy frying pan."

"Wha—uh, no. I was gonna finish up the dishes and go," Dean says, and he's grateful that his feet are finally working, because he's able to turn away from Balthazar and reenter the kitchen, returning to the sink to finish up quickly.

"Oh, you don't have to leave. Though you still haven't explained why you're still here. Cas told me that you don't stay the night."

Dean swallows hard. The ache isn't going away. He feels cold and empty, like something that used to be inside of him was just ripped away, quickly and without empathy.

"I didn't," he says tightly. He just wants to get outta here before Cas wakes up. But Cas is a friggin' light sleeper. He's probably awake already, getting dressed to meet his _boyfriend_, and _fuck_, but that hurts.

"Oh?" Balthazar says. It sounds like he's about to continue, but Cas's voice drifts into the room—

"Balthazar! Who'd you bring—"

Cas stops speaking abruptly, and Dean turns his head to see Cas standing in the entrance to the kitchen, eyes flitting between Dean and Balthazar.

"Dean," he finally says, and there's something off, something detached, something _wrong_, about his tone. That's not how he's supposed to say Dean's name. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Dean says, and he wishes he'd had the brains to realize that he should've dumped the breakfast before Cas came in, because those wide, blue eyes are settling on the plate of food in a strange mix of surprise and… anger.

"I take it you're not ready to go, yet," Balthazar says after a moment of silence.

"No," Cas responds. Dean finishes rinsing the pan and sticks it in the dish rack to dry.

"I can call my client, if you want. She wouldn't mind waiting."

"No, no. Don't delay on my behalf. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Plenty of time, then," Balthazar says.

Awkward silence falls over the group again, and Dean wonders how the fuck he's supposed to leave. Finally, he turns away from the sink and tells himself he's just gotta walk out. Just _go_. Because he can't stay here for another minute.

"Cas, I think you and Dean might have some things to discuss," Balthazar says, and Dean's eyes flick to the blond—what is he doing? "I'll wait in the car. Let me know if you're going to be late, all right?"

"We don't need to talk," Dean says, turning his attention back to Cas.

"No, we do," Cas replies, and just like that, Dean's rooted to the spot. "Thank you, Balthazar. I will join you shortly."

Balthazar's lips quirk up in the first semblance of a genuine smile Dean's seen since he met the guy, and he starts to leave the room. As he passes by Cas, he runs his hand through the soft tufts of black hair, still mussed from sleep. Jealousy swells in Dean's chest. No one—_no one _—but Dean is allowed to touch Cas like that.

And then he's out of the room, leaving the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Cas fixes unreadable eyes on Dean the instant they're alone together. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands.

"I don't—"

"Why are you here, Dean? Last night, you said in no uncertain terms that _this_—" he gestures between them "—was over."

"I didn't—it was in the heat of the moment, Cas! You were being fucking stubborn, and I just—"

"I was being stubborn because _you_ were pushing our boundaries! We agreed to enter into this… this _arrangement_, after setting those rules together, and you can't just change them on your own, whenever you feel like it."

Dean bristles at the anger in Cas's tone. "Yeah well, when were you gonna tell me about Balthazar? We _agreed_ that nothing would change, but you've been hiding something from me, haven't you?"

"I don't have to tell you everything that happens in my life, Dean. I didn't do so before we started sleeping together, and I didn't feel the need to after. Nothing has changed—you are not my keeper."

"Yeah, but we're friends, aren't we? Isn't a boyfriend—" Dean resists the urge to flinch as he says the word "—something that you'd tell your friend about? Especially a friend that you're fooling around with?"

"I've been meaning to tell you, but Balthazar and I have not entered into a serious relationship yet, and I do not know where the two of us are headed," Cas replies easily. Dean stares at him, perplexed—he'd been expecting a more defensive response. "Well?" Cas says expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Well, you know now. So what?"

"I just…" Dean's voice fades.

Honestly, he doesn't even know what he's trying to say. That Cas was going behind his back? Because that's definitely what it feels like. But… but those fucking _rules_—going by whatever bullshit they agreed on, Dean has no claim over Cas. Hell, Dean himself suggested that they not be exclusive. God, that was stupid. Cas hasn't done anything _wrong_, yet Dean can't shake this gut-deep feeling of betrayal.

"Just what?" Cas says expectantly.

"Forget it. I'm outta here."

Dean starts for the exit, but Cas grabs his arm as he tries to pass by.

"No, we're finishing this today," Cas says. "Why did you come here this morning?"

Dean shakes Cas's hand off but doesn't try to leave again. "Isn't that obvious?" he says irritably.

Cas eyes the plate of breakfast still sitting on the counter. "No. No, it's really not."

"I wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot last night, all right?" Dean spits out. "And that's as close to an apology as I'm going, so you can either—"

"What, you think a food offering is going to magically fix everything? I'm not you."

Dean ignores the jab. "Look, I… I gotta know what you're planning on doing about Balthazar. You gotta level with me and tell me if this is over."

"You were the one who said—"

"I already explained that that was just in the heat of the moment, all right? Haven't you ever said something without really meaning it?"

Cas is silent for a moment. Then he asks, "Do you want to… go back, then? To the way that we were?"

Dean opens his mouth and closes it again.

No. No, that's not what he wants at all, because he wants more than that. _Needs_ more than that. The thought of Balthazar downstairs, waiting in a no-doubt fancy car for Cas to come downstairs, brings out this unfamiliar rage in his chest. Dean can give Cas as many cars as he wants, but he doesn't have the same taste in ridiculously ancient, musty things that Cas does, and he certainly doesn't have the patience to go to museums and appreciate shit on canvas.

Cas sighs. "Balthazar is waiting. I need to get ready."

Jealousy rears up in Dean, and he's grabbing Cas's arm before he really knows what he's doing, shoving Cas into the hallway and pressing him up against the wall.

"Dean—"

Dean forces Cas to shut up by pressing their lips together, licking into Cas's hot, wet mouth. _Mine, mine, mine_, Dean's brain chants even as Cas brings his hands up and presses against Dean's chest, trying to push him away.

"D—sto—" is as much as Cas can get out around Dean's tongue in his mouth, and Dean intends to keep it that way.

But Cas finally shoves him back, and Dean stumbles. He really shouldn't be surprised at this point by how strong Cas is, but it's easy to forget the hidden strength packed in Cas's small form. It didn't hurt him, physically, to be pushed away, but he feels like he's toppling, _falling_, and it's utterly disconcerting.

"I really have to get dressed," Cas says, hurrying into the small sitting room.

Dean follows him through his small apartment and into his bedroom. "Yes, okay? Yes, I want this to keep going." He's falling, _falling_—"But you're the one who's got a boyfriend now, Cas. It's—"

"If you want this to continue, you're going to have to respect the rules we set up," Cas says calmly, stripping out of his t-shirt and sweats. Dean can't help but stare at his body, even though he's seen it countless times before. "Dean?"

"Oh, come on. I just did _one_ thing, and now you're treating me as though I've broken a law or something."

"That's not entirely true. Among other things, we agreed on no breakfast for the morning after, no staying the night… and now, you've tried to violate both rules."

"The breakfast has gotta be an exception, man."

Cas is in the process of buttoning up a polo shirt, and Dean watches his thin fingers at work. God, all the things those fingers have done—he remembers watching Cas finger himself open, remembers having to grip his own dick tight at the base to stop himself from coming on the spot.

The plummeting feeling gets decidedly worse, and it's all Dean can do to remain standing.

"Fine," Cas says. "Is this all settled, then?"

"Yeah. No. About Balthazar—"

"What happens between me and him is between us," Cas says instantly. "But if you must know, we have not slept together."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Cas fixes a hard stare on Dean. "Why? Do you feel bad right now?" He mock-gasps before continuing, a note of bitterness in his tone that Dean can't stand, "Oh my _god_, Dean Winchester's actually expressing _feelings?_ Storm clouds are rolling in quick now, in preparation for the end of the fucking world."

The floor's giving way beneath his feet. "Do you _have_ to do that?"

"I'm sorry. It was out of line," Cas says, but Dean's too distracted by the sight of him tying his tie, and all Dean can think about is how perfect it would be to grab a fistful of Cas's tie and drag him close for an utterly filthy kiss. Something, _anything_, to keep him from going downstairs to the other guy.

Then Cas is pulling on a pair of black slacks, and Dean didn't even know Cas owned anything this fancy. His family has never been very supportive of Cas, meaning that they barely gave him enough money to cover half his rent, and the only way Cas was able to pay for college was through scholarships. He gets this sick feeling of dread that maybe Balthazar was the one who gave Cas this outfit. Maybe Balthazar is the doting kind of boyfriend, the kind that Cas clearly deserves. And holy… where the fuck did that thought come from?

As Cas shrugs into a suit jacket, he says, "So are we good, Dean?"

No. Definitely not. "Yeah. Yeah, we're good."

"Good." Cas leaves his bedroom and goes into the bathroom to check his appearance in the mirror. "Dean, I… thank you for making breakfast. Sorry that I won't be able to eat it—you go ahead."

Dean just nods, not really able to trust his voice right now. He watches as Cas returns to the room and puts on a pair of black socks, and then Cas is rushing out of the room toward the exit.

"Lock the door on your way out," Cas calls from the other room, and Dean's mind automatically flashes back to that first morning they'd spent together, the way Cas had given in so easily, so perfectly.

Then the door's closing behind Cas, and Dean lets his legs give out, sinking onto the foot of Cas's bed. He still feels like his stomach is trying to drop straight out of him. His chest aches fiercely, and his eyes are prickling.

Fuck, he's not about to _cry_ over this. Over Cas.

His head falls into his hands, and he wonders how things went so wrong. How did he get so in over his head? And how did he not even notice until now, until Cas had already gone and found someone else?

He wants more than anything to chase after Cas, to tell him that he belongs to _Dean_ and no one else, that he's not allowed to have anyone else because he is Dean's world, and that means Dean must be his world as well. And goddamn it, that's sappy as fuck.

But if that's not in the cards… the least Dean can do is end this. He should be able to just move on, like he did with Anna, with Lisa, with Cassie. Dean's never been the staying kind anyway, and he and Cas have been doing this for a while. It shouldn't be a difficulty to just say goodbye to this _thing_ and go right back to normal. He and Lisa were fine after the breakup—it wasn't weird at all. So yeah, leaving this is the right thing to do. It'll give Cas a chance at a real relationship with Balthazar, lucky douchebag, and Dean wants to see Cas happy.

Except that Dean's too selfish to take that path. He wants Cas to be happy _with him_. Not Balthazar, not any other guy. Dean and only Dean. And if all he can do is satisfy Cas's sexual needs, well, at least he's still got some of him.

And fuck if that isn't the most pathetic thing Dean's ever thought in his life. _Christ_.


	9. The Courtship

**A/N:** If you'd prefer to read all the parts in chronological order, there should be a link on my profile. Feel free to check it out! If you click the links in that post, they should take you to the original tumblr posts, haha. I've been too lazy to edit them.

Castiel's stubborn, but Balthazar's persistent and, more importantly, sincere.

**IX. The Courtship**

"It's just dinner."

Castiel doesn't even bother shaking his head in response, just continues to read. He actually doesn't know that much about stolen ancient Chinese relics, which means that he's got an interesting research paper to grade, for once.

"Cas, you know you want to," Balthazar persists in a singsong voice.

"For the last time, I am uninterested," Castiel says without looking up. "I'm busy—let me read."

Balthazar sighs heavily and drops down into the chair across from Castiel's. "What is your problem?"

"I do not have a problem. I understand that you are unaccustomed to having someone reject your advances so consistently, but that doesn't give you the right to tell me I have a problem. Now would you please let me read?"

"It's lunch break, Cas. How many times do I have to tell you that this time is meant for eating, not reading?"

Castiel finally looks up at the Englishman, exasperated. "It's none of your business what I choose to do at mealtimes."

"Well! I've finally gotten your attention. Now, what do you say to—"

"No," Castiel cuts him off.

"Cas—"

"Balthazar, I don't understand what you're attempting to accomplish here. I've already said, more than once, that I am not interested. Why are you still trying?" Castiel asks.

"Because I'm very persistent, and I'm thinking that one day, you'll finally give up on whomever you're pining for. And when—"

"I'm not pining," Castiel interrupts, irritable.

"Right, of course you're not," Balthazar says, grinning now. "Except for the fact that you _are_, and whomever it is you're interested in just isn't returning your attention."

"Don't you think you're projecting a little too much?"

"Oh, I could be projecting just a little. But I know you well enough to know that I hit that nail right on the head, darling. Now, about dinner—"

"It's not happening. Is there anything else I can do for you today?" Castiel asks.

Balthazar rolls his eyes. "Fine, turn the conversation back to work, why don't you? I'm going to a seller the day after tomorrow, and I'm going to need you to come along."

"For?"

"In this case, verifying that the artifact is authentic."

"What is it supposed to be?"

"Pueblo pottery. At least, she claims that it's Pueblo, and that it's a pot, or vase, or something. I'm not an expert, so I wouldn't know whether or not it was real even if it was staring me in the face. But you already know that."

Castiel pauses for a moment to think about his schedule the day after tomorrow—it'll be a Wednesday, so he doesn't have class. "What time?"

"Three in the afternoon. I scheduled our meeting on a day that I was sure you wouldn't have class. Will you come?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. I'll pick you up around two thirty then, yes?"

"That's fine."

"Would you be opposed to getting dinner after the meeting?"

Castiel sighs and looks back down at the paper in front of him. "Balthazar, you make it very difficult for me to be your friend."

"I don't know what you're talking about, my dear. I thought this friendship was going rather swimmingly, myself."

Castiel shakes his head. "I think I liked you better when you were still bragging incessantly about your conquests."

"Yes, well. I was bound to get bored of easy targets eventually."

"Is that what I am to you, then? A challenge?" Castiel asks, skimming over the introduction.

"Much more than just a challenge," Balthazar answers. "Why do you think I haven't given up yet?"

"Because you can't take no for an answer."

"No, because I actually want to date you. Is that so hard to believe?"

Castiel's more focused on grading now, so he just responds as he did the last time Balthazar asked him this—"Coming from you, yes."

"Cas."

Castiel just keeps reading, so he's startled when Balthazar puts a hand over his. "What?" he says, pulling his hand back.

"I really would like to date you, and I'd appreciate it if you believed that," Balthazar says seriously.

The shift in his friend's demeanor throws Castiel off. In all the time that they've known each other, Balthazar's always been cocky and flippant and sarcastic, never this serious, this close to revealing vulnerability.

"I… believe you," Castiel says, making sure to meet Balthazar's eyes when he says it. "But I'm still not interested."

Balthazar nods. "I know." Then he's smirking again. "Won't stop me from trying, of course," he says, getting to his feet. "I'll leave you to your not-lunch, then. Until Wednesday."

"I'll see you then."

Castiel watches as Balthazar walks away from the table and out of the café, heading back in the direction of campus. He disappears into the crowd of people, and Castiel looks back down at the research paper again.

Castiel met Balthazar a little over six months ago—he's heir to some large estate in England, but he chose to come to America because he wanted more freedom, and Kansas… well, he ended up in Kansas because he knew it was one of the most unlikely places for his family to come looking for him. He's well-educated but doesn't know a whit about ancient artifacts—in fact, Castiel's almost certain that Balthazar is paying the university to keep him hired in acquisitions for the Spencer Museum of Art.

For what felt like the longest time, Balthazar was just the annoying but entertaining man who liked to brag about all the people he'd slept with. And then, about two months ago, Castiel somehow caught Balthazar's attention, and the man has been propositioning him ever since.

Objectively speaking, Balthazar is not an unattractive man. He dresses impeccably, and he takes good care of himself. It doesn't hurt that he's filthy rich, either. And despite his blithe way of going about life, he can be serious when the situation calls for it. These are all indicators that he'd make a good partner, and Castiel knows that there's not much else he could ask for.

Except… he's not Dean.

He's not Dean. He will never be Dean, nor will he ever replace Dean. Not in Castiel's heart, where Dean's taken root so strongly that Castiel's sure he'll never be rid of him, no matter what his brain says.

So even though Balthazar is a good man, maybe even the "right" man, Castiel finds that he cannot accept him.

* * *

"Dean, really. You should go now," Castiel says, pulling at Dean's hand.

"Five more minutes," Dean mumbles, lips brushing against the back of Castiel's neck as he speaks. His hand tightens on spur of Castiel's hip, and at this point, Castiel might as well have a hand-shaped mark on that spot, because it seems to be the go-to location for Dean's hand whenever they're together.

Castiel glances at the clock. "You said that five minutes ago."

Dean only hums in reply, and Castiel shrugs his shoulders to put some distance between them. It doesn't help much, though—Dean just waits for him to stop moving and then curls up around him.

Castiel opens his mouth to continue talking Dean out of bed, but the doorbell rings before he can say anything. He frowns. Who would be coming over at just past midnight? He starts to sit up, but Dean makes a disgruntled noise and tugs him back down.

"Dean, you've got to let me go. Someone's at the door."

As Castiel finishes speaking, the doorbell rings again, followed by three muted knocks.

"Just ignore it," Dean says. "They can come back tomorrow."

Castiel pries Dean's hand off his hip, but it just comes back around his chest, and they wrestle on the bed for a moment.

"Cas?" a voice calls faintly.

That's Balthazar. What's he doing here? "Dean, let me _go_," Cas says, finally yanking free. Of course, his momentum sends him rolling off the bed, and he lands on the ground with a loud thump. He groans and gets to his feet before tugging on a pair of sweats and heading out to answer the front door. Behind him, he can hear Dean _laughing_, the bastard.

Castiel pulls open the front door and sticks his head out into the hallway. "Hey!" he calls to Balthazar's retreating figure. "Did you need something?"

Balthazar turns around, and his eyes widen slightly as he returns to Castiel's doorway. It occurs to Castiel belatedly that he should probably have donned a shirt as well—Dean was very enthusiastic tonight, and glancing down, Castiel can see a number of bruises blossoming on his torso.

"You _reek_ of sex," Balthazar observes, maybe a shade _too_ casually.

Castiel's already regretting opening the door. "What did you want?"

Balthazar lifts his arm, and Castiel notices the familiar tan material draped over it. "You left your coat in the car this afternoon."

"Oh, I hadn't even noticed," Castiel says, taking it. "You, uh. You didn't have to come all this way."

"It was no problem. Knew you'd need it for work tomorrow."

Castiel nods. "Thank you, then."

Balthazar's eyes are still raking over Castiel's chest, probably taking in the bruises, and Castiel resists the urge to squirm. "So you're really not pining, then," is what Balthazar finally says.

Castiel steps out into the hall and pulls the door shut behind him. "No, I'm not."

"What's the problem, then? I know you're not happy."

"Who ever said I wasn't happy?"

"You don't have to say it for it to be true, for other people to notice. I just happened to notice," Balthazar says, and Castiel wonders how he could possibly have noticed that—Castiel's always taken care to make sure his thoughts aren't noticeable. As though having heard that thought, Balthazar continues, "You think that people can't see you, but they do. I do, even if _he_ doesn't." He jerks his head toward the closed apartment door as he finishes speaking.

"That's not—" Castiel cuts himself off before he can say that it isn't true, because that would be a lie.

Dean doesn't know that anything is amiss, but that's because Castiel is extra careful around him. When he's with Dean, his emotions are on lockdown, hidden away where Dean can't find them, because as unhealthy as this arrangement might be for Castiel, he doesn't want it to end.

"Ah," Balthazar says with a knowing look. "Well, I suppose I can guess what's wrong. Just… who is he?"

"You don't know him, and you don't need to know him," Castiel says firmly. Balthazar just stands and watches him, as though if he stares long enough, Castiel will give in and tell him everything. "It's late," Castiel says. "Go home and get some sleep."

"Yes, that's a good idea. I'll be dropping by to see you tomorrow, though."

Castiel just nods, not bothering to protest. It won't do any good, anyway. "Good night."

"Good night, Cas."

Balthazar heads off down the hall, and Castiel goes back into his apartment. Dean's still lying down when Castiel reenters his bedroom.

"Hey, lazy ass. Get up," Castiel says.

Dean grumbles something unintelligible and burrows under the covers, feigning sleep.

Castiel sighs. "I know you're awake, Dean."

When Dean doesn't move, Castiel reaches over and tugs at the blanket, but Dean's prepared for him and is already clutching two fistfuls of it.

"Dean," Castiel says, exasperated. "I have a class to attend tomorrow morning. You have to go."

It takes about five more minutes of coaxing, followed by a brief wrestling match, to get Dean out of his apartment. Castiel falls asleep and has nightmares about an interrogation, Spanish Inquisition style, with Balthazar grilling him about his faith in Dean. There might be something about a war. And Celine Dion may be singing in the background.

* * *

Castiel almost jumps when Balthazar's voice comes from just behind him. "So, what's his name?" Balthazar is asking in a cheery voice.

"Please stop pestering me," Castiel says, taking a sip from his coffee as Balthazar sits down across from him. "I wouldn't bother you like this if our situations were reversed."

"Well, of course you wouldn't. That's why you're you and I'm me. It's also why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has no clue how you feel."

Castiel sighs. "Don't try to get in my good graces with Harry Potter references. It won't work."

Balthazar smiles. "Honestly, I'm still surprised that you like Harry Potter at all. And besides, I don't have to try to do that. I know for a fact that I'm already in your good graces."

Castiel shrugs and wishes he had more work to do. He finished the last of those research reports on his free day yesterday, and now he's wondering why he didn't think to save a few, just to look busy.

"If you won't tell me his name, then tell me what he's like."

Castiel sees no point in doing so and doesn't bother saying it.

"Oh come on, Cas. Work with me," Balthazar says.

"I'm busy trying something new," Castiel says, eyes on the table.

"What is it?"

"Pretending I don't see you so you'll take the hint and leave."

Balthazar laughs at this. "Oh, you'll have to work harder than that to get rid of me."

"Yes, I'd anticipated that that would be the case."

"So just tell me. What's he like?"

"Dean."

Balthazar raises an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"His name is Dean. That's all you're getting," Castiel says.

"Cas—" Balthazar starts, but Castiel just fixes him with a steady, unyielding stare, and he stops. "All right," he says finally, conceding. "I'll leave you alone, then. But just tell me one thing. What are you going to do when he's done with you?"

"What?"

"What are you going to do when he's done with you?" Balthazar repeats. "When he's tired of you, when he's moving on to fuck the next pretty face in line? What then, Cas?"

Castiel hasn't thought much about it, because he's always assumed that everything would go back to normal, that everything would be fine. But thinking of it now causes his gut to twist and his stomach to clench painfully. Because he doesn't want it to end, doesn't want it to be over.

"And he _will_ get tired of you, Cas. If I'm reading you right, this Dean isn't interested in you at all. What'll happen when he meets the guy of his dreams and leaves you out to dry?"

Castiel doesn't answer. He doesn't have a response that would shut Balthazar up. Not satisfactorily, anyway. He takes another drink from his coffee cup and waits for Balthazar to leave.

Finally, Balthazar sighs and gets to his feet. "Cas," he says, and his voice is softer now. "I don't know your opinion of me, but I know it isn't the best. And that's… fine. My behavior hasn't warranted much respect, and I'm aware of that. But I just… if nothing else, I just want to be able to look after you. You're going to end up heartbroken over this man, if you aren't already, and—"

"Who are you to say that about me?" Castiel says suddenly, and there's something chilling in his voice that even he himself doesn't recognize.

Balthazar lifts both hands in front of his chest, palms facing out, surrendering. "Sorry. I didn't mean…" he starts, but then he shakes his head, brows furrowed in anger. "No. No, damn it, you're _not_ scaring me off. Cas, Castiel, I meant what I said. And even if you won't let me be anything else to you, I am your friend. I'm allowed to care about how you feel, all right?"

Castiel has no rebuttal to this. Because Balthazar _is_ his friend, and he does have the right to care. And it does feel nice to have someone who's concerned about how he feels, for once.

He looks up in time to see Balthazar sigh, see the flare of anger dying out in his grey-blue eyes, replaced by all-too-familiar resignation. And that's… that's wrong. It's _wrong_ for Castiel to be the cause of this look, because he's seen it too many times when he looked in the mirror.

"Sorry," he says.

Balthazar shakes his head, and the weakness vanishes instantly, as though he's remembered himself. "No, no, don't be sorry," Balthazar says, a smirk beginning to form on his lips.

But Castiel's had enough, doesn't want to hear the lies. "Stop," he says. "Just… stop."

His friend's expression sobers. "All right. I'll just go, then." Balthazar gives him a brief smile before walking past him and away from the table.

"No—Balthazar, wait."

The sound of Balthazar's footsteps stops. "Yes?"

Castiel turns to see Balthazar's back facing him. He takes a deep breath. "Are you free for dinner tonight?"

Balthazar stiffens. Slowly, he turns back around to face Castiel, and his expression is guarded, like he isn't sure how to react. Like he doesn't trust Castiel's sincerity.

"Just as friends," Castiel says, so that Balthazar knows he isn't promising anything.

"You're not fucking with me, are you?"

"I wouldn't."

Balthazar nods, then. "Six thirty all right with you?"

"Yes."

"I'll pick you up from your place," Balthazar says, a tentative smile stretching his lips.

Castiel returns the smile. "See you then."

Balthazar starts walking away again, but he turns back and adds, "So, you said that tonight's dinner is going to be 'just as friends.'"

"And I meant it."

He grins. "I guess I'll just have to wait until next time, then."

"Who said there was going to be a next time? I've only agreed to tonight."

The grin widens. "Oh darling, I take that as a challenge."

With that, Balthazar departs, and as Castiel turns back to his coffee, he finds himself smiling.


	10. The Confrontation

**A/N:** Dean finds out something very important.

**X. The Confrontation**

Sam picks up on the fifth ring of the second call. "Deeeeean," he groans, his voice raspy with sleep. There's no mistaking the annoyance in his tone.

"Hey, why didn't you answer your phone?"

"It's fucking ass o'clock in the morning, and—"

"Dude, no it's not," Dean interrupts, glancing at the clock. "It's almost one in the afternoon, sleeping beauty."

"Time zones, you asshole."

"Even in California it can't be much earlier than eleven, college boy."

"Whatever!" Sam grumbles. "I just had a final yesterday. Do you know what that means?" Sam pauses for about half a second before steamrollering on, "It means I got no sleep the night before because I was cramming, and I need my sleep right now."

"Quit whining, you giant wuss. I need to talk to you."

And yeah, as little as Dean likes talking about things, it's been a few days since the awkward as fuck meeting between Dean and Balthazar, and he and Cas haven't spoken. Cas said something about how they could go back to what they were doing before, but neither of them has tried to initiate contact since that morning, and it's driving Dean crazy, thinking about what Balthazar could be doing to try to charm his way into Cas's bed.

Or maybe it's already happened. Maybe Cas decided to just go for it, since Dean knows already. The thought of Balthazar's hands on Cas makes Dean feel sick, makes him want to go and punch out all his frustration on a wall or a tree or something. Like a dude with blond hair, blue-grey eyes, a nice suit, and a snotty British accent to top it all off.

"Ugh," is all Sam says in response, but Dean takes it as encouragement to keep talking, to get rid of his murderous urges in a less… less _murderous_ way.

"It's uh… it's about Cas."

There's a brief silence on the other side, and then a wary, "What about Cas?"

Dean frowns. "Why'd you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like… like there's something you know that I don't know," Dean says, and just, _shit_. He gets to his feet and starts pacing, unable to keep still. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. You _knew_ all about this, didn't you? You've known, and you didn't even think to tell me. How long has this been going on?"

"Dean—Dean, stop. Calm down. I didn't tell you because Cas didn't want you to know. How'd you even find out?"

"I asked first, goddamn it. How long?" Dean demands, because it's one thing if Cas didn't tell Dean about Balthazar, but it's another if he told Sam about it and specifically asked Sam to keep it from Dean. And then he goes and says all this shit about Dean not being his keeper, and nothing changing between them. What _bullshit_—

"I don't know, Dean," Sam's saying. "It's not like I know the exact date and time it all started."

"Give me a ballpark estimate, then," Dean says roughly. Cas is gonna hear about this, but Dean's gotta get his facts straight first.

Sam sighs, and there's another silence.

"Is it that hard? Just—"

"I can't—I'm _tired_, Dean!" Sam protests. "I don't know, a few years or something?"

And Dean freezes, because that—that doesn't make any sense. "Years," he says flatly.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you guys have been together for like, a year and a half already, and it started at least a year before that, because I noticed—"

No, this _makes no sense_. Balthazar can't have been in Cas's life for that long without Dean noticing. And besides, Balthazar said something about six—seven?—dates. Over the course of a few _years?_ That's… that's ridiculous. And there is no _way_ that Cas was with Balthazar before Dean. No way in fucking _hell_.

"…Dean? Are you even listening anymore?" Sam's asking.

"Look, Sam, I don't think you know what you're talking about, because there's… Balthazar can't have been around for that long."

A long pause. Then Sam says, "Sorry, Dean. Who?"

A sick feeling starts up in Dean's gut, and he can't exactly figure out what it's about. "Balthazar. You know, Cas and Balthazar, and…"

Dean hears Sam mutter a quiet, "Shit."

"Okay, so you don't know about Balthazar. What the fuck were you talking about, then?"

"I… nothing."

But the thoughts are already whirring away in Dean's head. Something that Sam would have picked up on, years ago, before this _arrangement_—and he's really starting to hate that fucking word—started between him and Cas. Something that Cas would have talked to Sam about, asked Sam to keep away from Dean.

And Cas never kept anything from Dean, not after that first year as roommates. Hell, Cas didn't even try to hide it when he was checking out another guy's ass. There can't have been much that he'd ask Sam not to tell Dean, can't have been much that he'd discuss with Sam over Dean.

"Dean?"

That's Sam's voice, tinny, still on the line. The sick feeling intensifies, and Dean feels like he's gonna hurl.

All the guys he introduced Cas to in the past, all the dates Cas apparently sat through because _Dean_ recommended these guys. And fuck, he remembers the times he'd catch Cas looking at him appreciatively, and it never really struck him as strange because well, he's always _known_ he was a hot piece of ass, and he's never begrudged anyone for looking their fill. He never thought of it as anything more than that, and just, fuck.

"Dean. Hey. Who's this Balthazar guy?"

But Dean's mouth isn't quite connected to his mind anymore, and who even gives a fuck about Balthazar when Cas… God, no.

Dean clears his throat, and it takes far more effort than it should. "Sam, just… be straight with me."

"O—kay?" Sam says, "o" drawn out in a way that's supposed to be familiar, supposed to say that he's just going along with Dean's craziness to humor him, but Sam's trying too hard for casual, and Dean can hear the apprehension in his voice.

"Does Cas… does he…" he coughs here, not even on purpose, and goddamn it, he's always hated talking about _feelings_—

"Yes!" Sam blurts out, exasperated. "Yes, you gigantic moron, _Cas loves you_. I have no fucking idea _why_, because you're even more incapable of expressing your emotions than a _potato_, for Christ's sake—"

But Dean isn't listening anymore, stopped listening after those three words—_Cas loves you_. Cas… Cas loves him.

Cas loves Dean.

Dean. Not Balthazar.

And god, he feels like the Grinch at the end of the movie after his heart's swollen five or six or eighty gajillion times—he doesn't know, he wasn't paying attention—because his chest's about to burst, and all he knows is that right now, he's gotta _find Cas_.

He becomes aware of the fact that Sam's still rambling on—"don't know how many times I tried to—"

"Sam, I… I've gotta go," Dean says, and he hears Sam huffing an incredulous laugh just before he hangs up.

First he tries calling Cas, but his phone is off. He considers leaving a message, but he really doesn't want to do this over the phone, needs to _see_ him. He starts pacing again, tries Lisa's phone. Maybe they're having lunch today. Lisa doesn't pick up either, and that means they're _definitely_ having lunch together. He doesn't even bother trying Anna, because the three of them agreed to keep phones off for their hangouts. Something about reserving time for each other.

But Dean doesn't really give a damn about that right now, and he needs to _find Cas_. So he runs through the places that he's heard them mention, trying to decide on the most likely place.

He's already in his car, heading for this café called Gratitude a few blocks away from KU campus when his phone rings.

"Jess?" he says when he picks up.

"Yeah, hey!" she says brightly—Jess is somehow always in a good mood. How she manages it Dean has no idea.

"Sorry, I'm a bit busy—"

"Looking for Cas, I know," she says. "I'll keep it quick, then. Lisa said they're gonna be at Bambino's Italian today, 'cause she's been craving their chocolate cake."

"Jess, you're an _angel_. I love you," Dean says, swerving into the left lane to make a U-turn.

Jess laughs. "If any of them yell at you, tell them I'm sorry."

"Yeah, sure. I swear, if Sam doesn't marry you, I'm gonna knock his teeth out."

"Don't think you're gonna have to worry about that, Dean," Jess answers good-naturedly. "Good luck, hon."

"Thanks."

* * *

"So, how's that teaching position looking?" Anna asks.

"Not bad," Castiel answers. "I'm a bit young to be hired on as a professor, so I'll be spending a few years as an assistant professor first."

Anna smiles. "That's great! It's just a title. You're gonna be teaching your own courses, right?"

Castiel nods, and Anna beams.

Lisa rolls her eyes. "Cut it out, Anna. If I didn't know better, I'd think Cas was your adopted son or something."

Anna presses a hand to her chest in mock offense. "Do I really look that old already?"

"Only if you squint," Lisa says.

Castiel reaches out to rest a hand over Anna's. "Don't worry. I'll always think you're young and beautiful, Mom."

"You two are the worst. I don't know why I still bother driving all this way every other week."

"Aw, you couldn't live without us, that's why," Lisa says.

Castiel stops himself before he can suggest that Anna move back into town.

She and Dean are on civil terms, but that might only be because Castiel hasn't seen them in the same room for years. It's weird to think that their relationship had gotten to the point where Anna had asked Dean to marry her. The details of the situation had been hazy because Castiel heard both sides of the story, and the versions had been different, altered for his ears.

Years later, one of the only things he's sure of is that Anna rushed into it because it was what she thought was right, a timing sort of thing—and yeah, Castiel knows that Anna's upbringing was similar to his, so there were some notions that Anna couldn't shake. Sitting and standing with ramrod-straight posture, for example. It just so happened that getting engaged three years into a relationship was one of those things.

The only other thing Castiel knows for sure is that Dean had actually loved her—_really_ loved her—and oh, how Castiel had envied her. But Dean had balked at the idea of tying the knot, getting hitched so early. The breakup had been long, drawn out over several days of arguing and making up and fighting and apologizing. Castiel did what he could as a listener, refusing to take sides. Lisa, meanwhile, had taken Dean's side, unable to sympathize with Anna's past like Castiel could. The ensuing rift hadn't been fun for Castiel.

"Um, hello? Earth to Cas?" Lisa's saying, and Castiel blinks a few times.

"Yeah, sorry. What?" he says. Lisa's eyes cut to the amused waiter standing at the table, and Castiel flushes. "_Oh_. Sorry. I'll have the pasta alla sorella."

"Good choice," the waiter says, throwing a flirtatious wink his way, and before Castiel can respond, the guy is slipping away from the table.

"I believe you've just been thoroughly checked out," Lisa says, grinning.

"Yeah, very funny," Castiel says.

"Anyway, tell us about Balthy. He was so nice when he dropped you off," Lisa says, and damn, Castiel had thought that Anna had successfully diverted the topic of conversation away from Balthazar.

"Can you please refrain from calling him that?" Castiel says in lieu of any real response.

"I actually _am_ curious about him," Anna admits. Oh, she's a _traitor_, and Castiel doesn't bother hiding his thoughts when he turns his gaze on her. She just lifts an eyebrow and meets his eyes steadily. "He looked quite taken with you," she continues, and _please, stop_.

"Quite," Lisa repeats, sniggering.

Castiel shakes his head. "What do you want to know about him?" he asks, a bit of resignation creeping into his voice—he might as well get this over with now, because he knows that Lisa won't let this go.

As predicted, Lisa pounces. "Have you slept with him?"

"No."

"Do you plan to?"

Castiel hesitates, and Anna takes pity on him.

"Lisa, stop," she says. "Is he… nice?"

Lisa laughs. "He sure _looked_ nice. I'll bet he would kiss Cas's shoes if Cas asked him nicely."

"He is a kind person, yes," Castiel says to Anna, ignoring Lisa's comment.

"Are you interested in him?" Anna asks.

Castiel shrugs and takes a sip from the glass of water set in front of him, because he honestly isn't sure what he wants anymore. Okay no, that's a lie. What he wants is, always has been, and always will be, at least for the foreseeable future, Dean.

But that's impractical, improbable, and Balthazar is _here_. At dinner last night, Balthazar even offered to give up his estate, sell it and stay here, for Castiel. Castiel had tried to laugh it off as a joke, but Balthazar had stopped him—_Cas, it's good that you're acquiring a sense of humor, but I hope you know I did mean every word of that_—and an offer like that isn't something Castiel can take lightly. Balthazar wants him, and not just because he's attractive. _God, if only I could keep you_, he'd said as they parted for the night, yet Castiel only wishes he could hear Dean say that to him.

"_I_ think he should go for it," Lisa's saying to Anna, but Anna's frowning.

"Well I mean…" she looks at Castiel. "Does he make you happy?"

"He does make me laugh," Castiel says with a small smile. Anna's still frowning, but Lisa claps her hands together.

"Hell, that's good enough. Plenty! I mean, he's not half as gorgeous as Dean is, but Dean… _god_, Dean." Lisa shakes her head, smiling fondly. "Dean's not the kind of guy who's gonna stick around for the long haul. You know, Cas? I mean, we've all had a bit of experience with that, haven't we?"

"All right, enough of my drama. How about you, Lisa? How are you and Matt?" Castiel says.

But Anna's shaking her head, a hand held up in Lisa's direction to keep her from responding to Castiel. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you about him, Cas. How _are_ things going with Dean? It's been a while since you've mentioned him."

"We're fine," Castiel says. "I saw him a few days ago, when he got back from visiting Sam."

"Oh right, Sam's birthday is around this time of year, isn't it?" Anna says—she's always been better with these sorts of details than Lisa.

"Yes."

"Um," Lisa says suddenly, and Castiel and Anna look over at her, only to see her staring towards the front of the restaurant. "Speaking of Dean… what is he doing here?"

Then Lisa and Anna are both looking at Castiel, and he shakes his head. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

A waiter—_their_ waiter—is pointing Dean in their direction, and Dean's eyes flit over to Castiel's and stop there. There's a look on his face that Castiel recognizes, one that screams _we need to talk_, and he quickly averts his eyes, turning back to face the girls.

"He's coming over," Anna says. "Why is he coming over?"

It occurs to Castiel that Anna and Dean haven't seen each other in person for a few years. Oh, this could turn out to be really awkward.

"Cas."

And Castiel _has_ to turn slightly in his chair, look up at Dean, and hope that his smile doesn't look too forced. "Hello, Dean."

"Dean," Lisa says, and Castiel can tell just from the tone of her voice that she's smiling.

"Lisa, Anna, it's good to see you again," Dean says, but his eyes hardly stray from Castiel.

"Yes, it's been a while," Anna says.

Dean's eyes are finally drawn away from Castiel's for an extended moment, and Castiel turns back to face the table. Anna's smiling, and it looks completely natural, not uncomfortable at all, and Castiel's about to wonder whether he should ask Anna for lessons on how to emulate that when Dean walks around the table and leans down to give her a hug. Okay, so it's _genuine_. What?

Anna's eyes flick between Lisa and Castiel when Dean pulls back, and she laughs. "What's wrong with you two?"

And when Castiel looks at Lisa, he sees his own look of surprise reflected on her face. "I hadn't realized you two were okay again," Lisa says.

"Yeah, we've made a few phone calls," Anna says. "I mean, you two aren't the only people I liked here in this town."

Lisa laughs at this, and Castiel manages to laugh along. But he can feel the weight of Dean's gaze resting on him again, and he doesn't know what's going on. He and Dean haven't spoken since that morning in Castiel's apartment, and even though they agreed to maintain the same relationship, Castiel still feels shaky on where they stand.

"Girls, you don't mind if I uh, borrow Cas for a few minutes, do you?"

"Dean—" Castiel starts.

"Oh no, not at all," Anna responds as Lisa answers, "Please, help yourself."

"Thanks," Dean says, and then he taps Castiel's shoulder. "C'mon, Cas."

Castiel shoots both of his friends betrayed looks as he gets to his feet. Lisa just smiles innocently at him, but Anna's brow is furrowed, as though she's worried about what's about to happen.

Then Castiel's walking out of the dim restaurant and into the sunlight. He blinks several times to let his eyes adjust to the relative brightness, and then a hand grabs his elbow and starts leading him away. Castiel lets Dean drag him a few steps before shaking his hand off and standing his ground.

"Dean, what are you doing?" he says.

Dean turns back to face him. And Castiel was careful not to look too closely at Dean's face while they were still at the restaurant, but even from the glimpses he caught he can tell that Dean was putting on a calm face back there. Now, the mask is slipping. "When were you gonna tell me?" Dean asks.

And… what? That makes no sense.

"No, don't give me that face, Cas. When—"

"_What_ face, Dean? I'm not giving you a face," Castiel says, irritated.

"The I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about face, Cas. You're doing it right now," Dean says.

"That's because I _don't_ know what you're talking about," Castiel shoots back. "You can't just drag me out of lunch with Anna and Lisa—which hey, you know that isn't allowed, ever—and just ask me a question and expect me to know what you're talking about."

"Cas—"

"And you _know_ you're not supposed to interrupt," Castiel says, frowning. "There's a reason why we keep all our phones off, Dean. I'm sure I've brought this up with you before, so this had better be important."

"It _is_ important, Cas. Just—" Dean stops himself, and Castiel can tell he's practically grinding his teeth.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asks, a bit of concern dropping into his voice. Has something serious actually happened? "Is it about your father? Or Sam?"

Dean shakes his head. "No—no, they're fine," he says.

"Okay…" Castiel says, waiting for Dean to say something. But Dean just watches him helplessly, and what the hell is Castiel supposed to do with that? "Please tell me this isn't about Balthazar."

"No!" Castiel jerks back slightly at the vehemence of Dean's denial, and Dean says, more mildly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to—no. No, it's not about him. Well, it's a little bit about him. I… Cas…"

Castiel sighs. "I'm sort of in the middle of lunch, Dean. With Anna and Lisa, may I remind you again."

"Right, sorry. I just…" Dean groans. "Fucking—should have thought of something to say on the way here," he mutters.

"Yes, yes you should have," Castiel agrees. After another uncomfortable silence, Castiel tries, "Do you want to do this later, when you've had time to—"

"Break up with Balthazar."

Castiel blinks. Didn't Dean just say that this _didn't_ have to do with Balthazar? "Um. Excuse me?"

"Shit," Dean mutters, shaking his head.

"Surely I misheard," Castiel continues, "but did you just _declare_ that I'm not allowed to date Balthazar?"

"No, I didn't mean it—well no. I _did_ mean it, but… but not like that."

"All right, then how did you mean it?"

Dean opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and he shuts it again, clenching his jaw. Exasperated, Castiel thrusts his hands up in the air. Normally, he wouldn't have a problem being patient, waiting for Dean to get his words in order, but he can't believe Dean would have the gall to just _say_ that.

"Why, then? Why the sudden outburst?" Castiel asks.

"Cas."

"Why do you—what makes you think you can decide whom I choose to spend my time with?"

"You love me," Dean blurts out.

The denial is automatic, a knee-jerk response. "No, I don't."

"I know you do," Dean says, and something inside Castiel is _dying_.

"No—Dean, I—"

"Cas, I _know_."

And Castiel gets a hold of himself. "Okay, fine. I... love you." Fuck, he's gone and _said it out loud_ now, and there's no way he's gonna be able to take it back, and okay no, maybe he _doesn't_ have a hold of himself yet, because he's panicking, and everything's spiraling out of control, and Dean _knows_, and this is all ending right before his eyes, like a car crash, and he can't do anything to stop it.

He forces his thoughts to slow down, forces himself to focus his eyes on Dean, who for some reason looks… relieved? Oh, no. He probably only has this look on his face because he thinks Castiel's going to do as he says—why else would he look so goddamned pleased?

"So," Castiel says, and he can't help the anger slipping into his voice, "you think I should stay with you and not Balthazar because you found out about my feelings for you."

"Well, yes."

Not because Dean returns those feelings, then. He's just feeling possessive. "And why is that? Because you can't stand that someone might actually want what you don't?"

"Wait—what?"

Dean looks _confused_ somehow, as though he doesn't understand what Castiel's saying, but Castiel can't exactly slow down to elaborate, not when his thoughts are still pouring out of his mouth. "You find out about my feelings, and the first thing you think of is how this could benefit you, get rid of that pesky guy who occupies my time. Is that it?"

"No! Cas—how can you even think that?"

"Why wouldn't I think that? It makes perfect sense. The first thing you told me was to break it off with Balthazar, and when it didn't look like I would, you pulled the love card."

"Cas, you fucker, that's not what this is!"

Dean's clearly angry now, but Castiel's pissed too, so he goes on, "Okay, then tell me. What is this? Surely it's not you trying to use my emotions to manipulate me."

"No. Cas, this is me asking you to stay with me."

This stops Castiel short. _Stay with Dean_. That can mean more than one thing.

There's a possibility that Dean's actually serious about Castiel. Naturally, then, he wouldn't want Castiel to be seeing another man, and he'd ask Castiel to break up with Balthazar. But this is highly unlikely, seeing as he only expressed frustration at not being informed about the relationship, not about the existence of the relationship in the first place.

Next possibility, then. Dean doesn't like it when Castiel's time and attention is taken away from himself. The main demands on Castiel's time are work, Dean, and Balthazar. So Dean would want to get rid of Balthazar, because he knows Castiel's not quitting his job anytime soon. This is more likely than the first possibility but still not very likely, because Dean's already denied it—though he could be lying.

And so there's the last one. That Dean simply isn't done with Castiel yet. He doesn't have any deep, lasting feelings toward Castiel, but he isn't ready to lose him to Balthazar—yet. This was Dean's position regarding Anna several years ago, and looking at Dean now, it seems like the most probable choice.

So Castiel asks, "For how long?"

"What?" Dean says.

"For how long, Dean? How long before the day comes when you don't want me anymore?"

"Cas, I wouldn't…" Dean's voice fades, and he looks frustrated, but he doesn't continue. And his lack of response only serves to support Castiel's theory.

"What? You wouldn't what? You aren't into commitment, so if anything, you wouldn't stick around."

"Don't put words into my mouth, Cas," Dean growls.

"Then use your goddamn words! Words are gonna have to come out of your mouth for this to work, and if you're not gonna talk on your own, I'll just fill in your side of the conversation."

"Look—Cas, you said that you guys aren't in a serious relationship. How hard can it be to end it?"

And now that he thinks about it, Castiel should have thought that answer through a bit more before he said it the other day, but he'd been caught off guard by the situation. It's fine, though—he can fix it now. "I said that because it's the truth, as far as I'm concerned," he explains. "But he's… more invested. He's offered to move here to Lawrence, permanently."

"And? So what?"

"So you should understand why I'm reluctant to give that up."

"But Cas, I…"

"I'm not completely opposed to maintaining our… our relationship, within the same parameters as before. But you're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than 'Cas, I' to—"

"How can you even 'maintain our relationship' anyway?" Dean cuts in. "Doesn't it feel like cheating?"

"You and I are friends who sleep together on occasion, and we even agreed not to be exclusive, so no," Castiel answers matter-of-factly. Of this, he is certain. And while Balthazar doesn't like Dean's existence, he's obviously already accepted that Dean is a large part of Castiel's life, at least for now.

"Fucking unbelievable. How is Balthazar okay with this?"

"He loves me." It's scary how Castiel can say that and _feel_ the truth of it in his bones. Balthazar hasn't even said that to him before, not those three words. But he's shown it in his mannerisms, his choices, his persistence, the way he looks at Castiel… everything.

"Well, I—" Dean starts off strong, but his voice cuts off abruptly.

Castiel just watches him expectantly. "You…?" he prompts when Dean says nothing.

"Fuck it, forget it," Dean spits, already turning to leave.

Castiel's hand starts to lift as though it wants to grab Dean's shoulder, keep him from leaving, but Castiel stops himself—let Dean go. He _needs_ to let Dean go. It'll be better for both of them, in the long run.

If only it didn't hurt so fucking much right now.


	11. The Visit

**A/N:** Sorry this part is a couple hours late. I was madly working on another fic last night and forgot that I was still uploading this 'verse here. Whoops! (Also, just to avoid confusion, this takes place a long while before The Breaking Point and The Fall and stuff.)

Castiel receives some news from his estranged family.

**XI. The Visit**

Castiel is rinsing the dishes in the kitchen when he hears the doorbell ring. "Dean! My hands are covered in soap, mind getting that for me?" he calls.

Dean grumbles something and jogs into the kitchen.

"Dean, _the door_," Castiel says.

"I know," Dean says, voice closer than Castiel anticipated. Hot breath washes over the side of his neck, and then Dean licks a stripe up the back of his ear.

"Dean!" Castiel yelps, startled. He cringes away but turns his face in Dean's direction at the same time, instinct telling him to keep the enemy in his sights, and Dean takes advantage, darting forward and stealing a kiss.

The doorbell rings again, followed by three sharp knocks.

Dean only deepens the kiss, and Castiel starts to back away, but Dean's hand is curled around the back of his neck, keeping him from getting very far.

"Mm—De—door," Castiel manages around the tongue in his mouth.

Dean finally withdraws, grinning. "Hold that thought," he murmurs. One more press of lips, and then he's gone to answer the front door.

Castiel doesn't know who'd be looking for him right now, but the most probable scenario is that a coworker from the university is making rounds, dropping off Christmas gifts. Castiel distributed his gifts before school let out, but he knows that some of his friends were putting it off in order to get all their grading done.

"Who are you?"

Castiel freezes, last dish poised over the dish rack. It's been _years_ since he last heard that voice.

"I'm Dean Winchester. Who are _you?_" Castiel hears, and he quickly puts the dish down and wipes his hands dry on his jeans before heading out of the kitchen.

"Castiel," Uriel says, and Castiel suddenly has a hard time taking another step. It's been so long.

"Uriel."

Dean glances over his shoulder at Castiel, and Castiel can see that he has questions, but he's keeping them to himself for the time being.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel says, forcing his legs to move so that he can go to the door.

"May I come in?"

"No," Castiel says, and Dean stops in the process of stepping out of the way. "Why are you here?"

"I would like to speak with you in private," Uriel says, dark eyes shifting to Dean pointedly.

"No."

"These are matters not to be discussed openly before—"

"I recognize Dean as family more than I do you. If you want to tell me something, he can hear it as well."

Uriel continues to look at Dean with open distaste, and Castiel wants to gouge his eyes out. Uriel had looked down on Castiel, had agreed when their uncle called him broken, wrong, something that needed _fixing_. And now, Uriel is turning that condescending look on Dean, and Castiel won't have it.

"Zachariah is dead," Uriel finally says.

Castiel blinks once. Twice. "And?"

"Our father has returned. He wants you to come to the funeral."

"No," Castiel says.

"Hey, wait," Dean says, a hand landing on Castiel's shoulder, "I thought you said—"

"I'm not going," Castiel says firmly, shrugging Dean's hand off. He'll apologize and explain later, but right now, all he wants is to get Uriel off his doorstep. "If that was all, you can leave now."

"Castiel—" Uriel starts.

"I'm not part of this family anymore, Uriel—haven't been for years. I'm not going."

Before Uriel can respond, Castiel steps back and shuts the door. It's silent for a long moment, but Castiel can _feel_ Dean's presence just to his side.

"You sure 'bout that, Cas?" he finally says, and Castiel nods.

"Zachariah was terrible to all of us, but he had a special dislike for me, even before I came out. I never found out the reason—didn't care to."

"He was still your uncle, though."

"I'm aware of that, Dean, and I'm not going."

Dean nods. "Well, good. I didn't want you to go anywhere, anyway."

Castiel chuckles but doesn't really feel amused, scrubs a hand over his forehead.

"So that was a total mood killer, hmm?" Dean comments.

"Sorry."

"Hey, not your fault," Dean says before Castiel can continue. "It's not like you called up your Uncle Zach and asked him to croak."

This draws a genuine laugh from Castiel, and he's grateful that Dean's here right now, or he'd probably have to spend the rest of the night stewing. It isn't fun to think back on his childhood.

"But hey," Dean says, softer, "I thought you wanted to meet your dad. Uriel said—"

Castiel shakes his head, going for flippant as he interjects, "Nah. I stopped waiting for him a while back."

Dean nods again, and Castiel knows that he gets the absent father thing. Obviously he hasn't experienced it to the extent that Castiel has, but Castiel would never wish his own upbringing on anyone.

The doorbell rings again.

"God. Can't believe I forgot how fucking persistent they are," Castiel grumbles, shaking his head, and then he raises his voice to say, "Fuck off, Uriel! I'm not going!"

"Castiel, open up."

Dean glances at the door. "That didn't sound like Uriel."

Castiel shakes his head again, eyes widening a bit in disbelief. "Because it's not."

"Who is it, then?" Dean asks as the voice outside the door says, "Castiel, please."

Castiel pulls the door open. "Michael."

Michael stares at him for a long moment, as though taking in all the changes Castiel's been through in his years away from home. Castiel takes the opportunity to do the same. His eldest brother is thinner now, face gaunt and creased with more lines than he should have at his age. But his sharp, green eyes are just as piercing, the set of his mouth just as firm and unyielding as Castiel remembers.

"You look well," Michael decides.

"You don't," Castiel answers.

Michael huffs out a laugh. "Still don't mince words, I see. And you must be Dean."

Dean nods but says nothing, and Castiel is grateful that Dean knows to let him take the lead on this, that silent support is all he needs right now.

"Why have _you_ come?" Castiel asks Michael. "Uriel I understand, because he's the errand boy—"

"You know that's not true," Michael interrupts.

"Except that it is," Castiel counters. "The adopted child, the easiest to manipulate. He had a spirit before you and Zachariah snapped it in half to turn him into a hammer."

Unseen by Michael, Dean's hand rests in the small of Castiel's back, and it's ridiculous how much comfort this single point of contact brings.

"That's really what you think," Michael says softly.

"Yes. And you would have done the same to me," Castiel finishes, and the hand on his back tenses just a fraction, as though it's resisting the impulse to curl into a fist. Castiel leans back minutely into the touch to let Dean know that he's okay, he's fine. His spirit is far out of reach of Michael and his family.

"Castiel, I would never have—"

"Don't lie for Dean's sake. He knows plenty about the family already."

Castiel expects anger at his insubordinate words, the cold fury that Michael is known for in their family, but all he sees is a deepening in the frown lines around his brother's mouth. Michael really does look weary, so much that Castiel almost _pities_ him, and that's something he _never_ thought would happen. In his eyes there's this resignation that Castiel is not accustomed to seeing.

And for the first time, it occurs to Castiel that Michael was as much a victim as the rest of them. Michael _was_ a hammer, was broken long before the rest of them so that Zachariah would have a convenient tool to control them with.

"I'm only going to ask you this one time, Castiel," Michael finally says. "Will you come home?"

Before Castiel's departure, before all this time passed, Castiel is certain that this line would have been delivered with strength, with that fire-and-brimstone kind of intensity. But now, Michael just sounds drained. Tired. Done.

"All right," Michael says, taking Castiel's silence as rejection. He turns away and starts walking down the hall. "Goodbye, Castiel."

And no, that can't be it. "Michael, wait. What… what _happened_ to you?"

Michael stops walking. "It's broken. Everything's broken."

"What do you mean?"

Michael shakes his head as he turns back to face Castiel. "It's… a long story."

Dean pats Castiel's back, and Castiel's startled because he somehow got so caught up in his brother's inexplicable transformation that he'd _forgotten_ Dean was there. "Sounds like you two have a lot to catch up on," Dean's saying. "Cas, I'll catch you later, 'kay?"

Castiel nods. Dean shrinks back a bit when Castiel leans over to kiss him goodbye, eyes flitting to Michael, but Castiel just covers the extra inch and presses a quick kiss to Dean's lips. This is his home—if Michael doesn't want to see this, he can leave.

"Yeah, okay," Castiel says, voice pitched soft, words only for Dean's ears.

Dean might be blushing a little bit as he exits the apartment and passes Michael in the hall, and god, that's adorable. Michael doesn't seem to have any reaction to Castiel's display, and that's most likely a good thing.

When Dean's footfalls have faded, Castiel looks back at Michael. Then he lets out a soft sigh, shaking his head. "So. Coffee?" he offers, stepping back and out of the doorway.

"Please." Michael smiles as he enters the apartment, and Castiel reads surprise, satisfaction, and relief in his expression.

"Tell Uriel to come up," Castiel says. "He doesn't have to wait in the car."

Michael nods, pulls out his cell phone to send a text. Castiel leaves the front door open and walks past Michael into the kitchen.

"Actually, if you have beer, that'd be great," Michael says from the entrance, and Castiel turns.

"You don't drink."

"I didn't," Michael corrects him.

"Well," Castiel says, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers, "you must be a completely changed man." He tosses one of the bottles at his brother, grabs one more for Uriel, and elbows the fridge shut.

"You don't know the half of it," Michael answers.

Castiel eyes him for a second, watches Michael's throat work as he downs the first few gulps of beer before twisting the cap off his own bottle.

"Tell me."

* * *

Castiel ends up attending the funeral.

He meets his father—an old, tired man with a strange sense of humor. His name is Charles. It's strange to have a face to go with that name. He doesn't attempt to ingratiate himself with Castiel, and that oddly works better for him than any amount of apologies would have. Because Charles left of his own free will, and making excuses now would just be insincere. This though, this works.

Charles asks Castiel to stay. Whatever he did while he was gone obviously made him a lot of money—he's bought a giant house, Victorian-style, in San Francisco, and he offers Castiel a job, saying that he could get an offer from any museum that Castiel wants in the Bay Area. It's only slightly tempting—Castiel never cared much for his home here, and he doesn't care for it now.

Castiel stays the night immediately following the funeral. Dinner's quiet, awkward. No one really knows what to say—apparently, when Michael said that everything was broken, he mostly meant the family. Those who were able to get into college escaped and never came back, much like Castiel did, and they tended to avoid contact as well. Castiel hates it—Charles refers to it as a family dinner, but really, they're all strangers to each other.

Gabriel is the only person who seems somehow immune to the awkwardness; in fact, he hardly ever stops talking. He flew in from New York about half an hour before the service and showed up there in a bright pink suit with two giant luggage bags. Castiel learned after the service that one of the bags was half-filled with clothes and essentials, and the rest of his baggage was filled with assorted _candy_, which… _what?_

He's supposed to spend the next day with his family, but it's hard for him to speak with any of the others because while they're trying to accept him as a gay man, it's difficult for them to overcome so many years of ingrained homophobia from Zachariah. Michael and Gabriel are the only two who speak to Castiel comfortably.

So instead of staying another night, Castiel moves his flight up and escapes, because he'd much rather spend his winter holidays with Lisa and Anna, and with the Winchesters.

It's late when he walks back into his apartment, shuts the door behind him and fumbles around in the dark because he can't be bothered to turn on the light. He leaves his suitcase by the door—all he really wants is to strip, crawl into bed, and sleep until the past two days are far, far behind him.

He leaves behind a trail of clothing as he moves through his dark apartment, and by the time he reaches his bedroom, he's just wearing a pair of jeans. He drops those and flops onto the bed, only to find that it's already occupied. He instinctively leaps backwards and gropes blindly for the baseball bat that he knows is leaned up against his dresser.

But the lump of blankets curses halfheartedly at being disturbed from its sleep, and Castiel recognizes that voice—of course he does.

"Dean?"

The groaning coming from the bed can only be Dean—Castiel doesn't know anyone else who is such a big baby about being woken up in the middle of the night—but Castiel turns on the light anyway, just to be completely certain.

"Fuck," Dean groans, voice hoarse with sleep and muffled through the blankets. "Cas?"

Castiel reaches out and yanks the covers off of him. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dean is making his best disgruntled face, squinting in the light. "Sleeping. What's it look like?" He reaches half-blindly for the covers, and Castiel relents, letting Dean tug them back over him. Just before Dean covers himself up, Castiel catches sight of familiar fabric.

"You're wearing my pajamas," he observes. "Why are you wearing my pajamas?" Sure, his pajamas would fit Dean because they're all at least two sizes too big, but why would Dean…? Dean just grunts in response, and Castiel sighs. "I was planning on getting some sleep tonight, you know. In my bed."

"Why are you back already?" Dean asks, and he still sounds half-asleep. "Thought you weren't gettin' back 'til tomorrow."

Castiel's still frowning. "So you decided to just commandeer my bed?"

"'S comfortable," Dean mumbles, and it sounds like he's drifting closer to sleep.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Castiel grouses, moving to his closet and grabbing a spare blanket for the couch—of _course_ Dean would be here, taking up his space. "What's wrong with your thousand-dollar-bed at home?"

Dean doesn't look inclined to reply, so Castiel goes back into his living room and tosses the blanket onto the couch. The things he puts up with.

"Cas," Dean says from the other room. "Cas, come back."

Castiel sighs and returns to his bedroom. "What, Dean? Have you suddenly realized that you'd like to go to sleep where you should be sleeping? At your own house?"

Dean grins sleepily up at Castiel, and _god_, that just melts his insides. "C'mere," Dean says.

Castiel kneels down on the ground—safer than sitting on the bed, because that would give Dean a chance to manhandle him into a cuddling session—and looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean reaches out a hand and touches Castiel's face, eyes flitting back and forth between Castiel's. "Glad you're back."

"God, you're stupid when you're sleepy," Castiel says, unable to resist smiling. He turns his face and presses a kiss into Dean's palm—it's safe for him to do these things when Dean's hovering in that hazy zone between awareness and unconsciousness.

"Hmm," Dean hums, eyes sliding shut. "G'night, Cas. Missed you."

The words slur together toward the end, and Castiel gets back to his feet, replacing Dean's hand at his side. He stands in his room for a moment, just watching Dean sleep, before turning off the lights and walking out. He gets dressed again, because his spare blanket isn't exactly the best insulation against the cold. He's about to lie down on the couch when he decides to grab a hoodie as well, just in case.

A few minutes later, after he's settled in on the old sagging couch, Castiel laughs softly at himself. How screwed is he, that he lets Dean take over his bed instead of just kicking him out. And what the hell is wrong with Dean, anyway? Why would he leave his golden nest for Castiel's crappy apartment?

Castiel shakes his head, pulls the frayed material tighter around his shoulders, and closes his eyes.


	12. The Seasons, Part 1: Winter

**A/N:** Dean thinks about winter… and some other things.

Also, this is the first of two themed sequences of chapters in this fic. "The Seasons" has four parts, of course, and "The Tradition," which starts in the next chapter, has a total of eight parts. "The Seasons" takes place in our present-day chronology, and "The Tradition" occurs in flashbacks.

**XII. The Seasons, Part 1: Winter**

Winter is the best season there is.

Dean remembers the first time he played in the snow. He has no clue how old he'd been at the time, but he does remember loving the way it crunched under his feet, the way he and his mother could draw designs in it that would stay behind so much better than the shapes they tried in the sand box. But then Mom had gone, and Dad just wasn't as interested in the snow as Mom had been.

The snow still makes him think of her sometimes, and while it had been painful for the first few years, the sharp edges have dulled over time, and it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

He can't help but wish for a little bit of snow right now, just so that he can feel like Mom's still around, watching over him. But it's May, and snow would make no fucking sense at this time of year. Just… he's so alone, and it for some reason never occurred to him—well okay he's thought about it before but it never really _hit_ him like it's hitting him now—just how lonely he would be without Cas around, which basically just proves that he's an idiot.

The past two winters were awesome. The cold weather meant long days spent inside, either at Cas's place or Dean's, playing video games or watching TV, cooking dinner for two—or four whenever Sam and Jess decided to join them.

And it was easier to convince Cas to cuddle together under a blanket when it was cold out, because Dean gives off heat like a furnace all year round, and no matter how much Cas denies it, Dean knows he appreciates it.

Now, though, knowing what he does about Cas's feelings, he wonders how the hell Cas managed it. Sam said that he'd noticed at least a year before Dean and Cas started fucking, and Dean just can't imagine having to keep his feelings under wraps for such a long time. Not that he's ever actually _loved_ anyone—or at least, not that he'd ever admit it, because sometimes when he thinks back on it, he wonders if, given a few more years, he would have been able to marry Anna, after all.

But that's beside the point now, because well, _Cas_.

Will they ever be normal friends again? _Can_ they be? Dean doesn't think he can do it. Not now that he knows about the way Cas feels, god.

He stares out the window at the dark night and remembers their conversation from this afternoon.

"Cas, you fucker," he mutters under his breath.

But it's not even fair, him blaming this on Cas. Because if anything, this is Dean's fault. He couldn't think, too birdbrained to come up with anything on the way to seeing Cas, and it went pretty much in the worst way possible. He doesn't even know what happened. It was like seeing Cas right there, right in front of him, turned him into a complete idiot.

After the disaster with Cas, Dean drove out for a couple of hours just to clear his mind, but he was still too keyed-up when he got back into town, so he went to a bar with some half-assed notion of getting revenge on Cas. He'd even picked up this gorgeous, leggy blonde, but he just couldn't do it. Couldn't invite her home, couldn't even stand kissing her for more than a few seconds. He wanted blue eyes, wanted short, thick, dark hair. Wanted _Cas_.

Fuck, Cas has broken him, hasn't he? It wasn't even this bad after Anna, and he'd thought _that_ was bad.

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the glass, and it's not as cold as he wants it to be. Not cold enough for there to be snow outside.

Dean gets that Balthazar's "old money," that his family is probably way richer than Dean's. Cas doesn't care about these things though, so that never would have been a concern. Dean and Cas don't share that many interests, but that was never an issue either. Maybe Dean hadn't admitted this to himself at the time, but he'd expected everything to work out. After all, Cas… Cas loved him. How would Dean ever lose to Balthazar with that on his side?

And then Cas had to go and bring out the big guns, the most important difference between Dean and Balthazar. _Balthazar loves him_. It hurt so much to hear Cas say that with such certainty, like there wasn't even a shadow of a doubt that it was true. And Dean wanted so much to shut him up with something like _well I love you, too!_

But Dean hasn't said that before, not to anyone since Mom died. With Cas, he _can't_ say that, because he doesn't even know if that's what he feels. All he knows is that he's experiencing this gnawing, unrelenting _pain_. It feels like something's gone and hollowed out his insides, carved out a chunk of him and left a gaping hole behind, and just… if this is love, he's pretty sure he doesn't want any part of it.

Dean gets up and wanders aimlessly through the halls, and they're so empty that it _hurts_. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, scrolling down until he reaches Cas. He does it without thinking, doesn't even realize what he's about to do until his thumb's hovering over the green "call" button. Swallowing hard, he clenches his jaw and puts his phone back in his pocket.

He sinks down onto the couch in the first floor sitting room and grabs the remote, turns on the TV. But his mind won't stay focused on the images crossing the screen in front of him—he registers that it's probably a sitcom because of the laugh tracks, but he doesn't get much more than that.

Dean's hands twitch, like he should be holding onto something, like sitting down on this couch is triggering some sort of sense memory of Cas being here, folded into his arms. He can't help but think back to the stretch of time when Cas had had to stay here, and Dean's never been so thankful for a storm as he was when that power outage happened in Cas's neighborhood. They spent more than one lazy afternoon curled up together on this couch, reading, or watching TV, or talking.

And that's something he really, _really_ should not be thinking about, because now his arms feel empty too, just like how this house is always empty, and fuck, Dean's _life_ is empty.

He needs a distraction, quick. He briefly considers going into the shop, but it's already eight in the evening, and if he shows up now, Bobby's gonna _know_ that something's wrong, and he won't let Dean anywhere near the cars until they've had a talk. Bobby never lets him get away with anything.

So the shop is out of the question. He's already tried going out to a bar and picking someone up—that didn't fly. Though… he didn't really drink while he was there.

Yeah, maybe he should get so slobbering drunk that he won't even be able to remember his _own_ name, let alone Cas's. A niggling voice in the back of his mind tells him that this won't help at all, that he'll feel just as awful tomorrow, except it'll be worse because he'll have a hangover.

And that voice has a good point. Dean's liver doesn't need a workout, at any rate.

But as Dean leans back into the cushions, it occurs to him that this winter, whether or not he and Cas remain friends, it won't be the same anymore. Cas won't be spending half as much time here, won't let Dean put his hands on him, won't be… won't be Dean's anymore. Not the way he was the past two winters that they spent together.

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath before getting to his feet and wandering into the kitchen. He needs to stop thinking about this, consequences bedamned. He'll take the hangover over this… over these awful thoughts.

Winter this year is gonna suck.


	13. The Tradition: Year 1

**A/N:** Aw shiznit, so apparently I forgot to post last night. Sorry! I'll still put up the next chapter tomorrow night as scheduled.

Their annual tradition starts on January 24th, 2005.

**XIII. The Tradition: Year 1**

Dean gets back from lunch with Sam around two—Sam has a project that he's gonna work on with some friends, so he'll be busy the rest of the day. Dad's stuck in a meeting—typical—so Dean's gonna be spending the rest of his birthday without his family. Lame.

He considers calling up Victor and Jo to go hang out, but he already told them that he'd be with his family tonight, and that they'd get together tomorrow.

Resigning himself to a boring night in the dorm, he trudges upstairs and thinks about what he wants for dinner. When he opens the door to his room, Cas is sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop.

"Hey," Dean says.

Cas looks over, surprised. "You're back early. I thought you said—"

"Yeah, they canceled. Too busy. How's your paper coming along?"

"Well. I should be finished within half an hour," Cas reports as Dean crosses the room and flops face-first onto his mattress. "I'm… sorry," Cas adds.

"'m fine," Dean grunts. "It's not a big deal or anything."

There's a moment of silence, and then Cas resumes typing. Dean lets the soft clicking of Cas's keyboard lull him toward sleep—now's as good a time as any to catch up on some rest.

But just as sleep's beginning to edge in on Dean's mind, the typing stops, and Cas speaks. "If you'd like, we could go out for a birthday dinner, to make up for the one that you're missing."

Dean rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. "Don't you have work tonight? It's Monday."

"I can call in sick. It's not as though books that don't get shelved in time will spoil or burst into flame."

Dean chuckles, scratches an itch on his stomach. "You sure, Cas?"

"Yes. Joshua appreciates my work ethic. Apparently his previous assistant slept more than he shelved. I won't get fired over this, Dean, don't worry."

"All right, if you're sure," Dean says.

"I am."

The typing starts again, and Dean closes his eyes. "Y'know, we should go see a movie. You haven't seen enough good movies."

The typing doesn't stop, but Cas responds readily, "I'm not opposed to the idea. What would you like to watch?"

"Hmm, I don't know," Dean says, trying to think of what's in theaters. "Hey, you a fan of Leo?"

Cas stops typing, and Dean lifts his head to look just in time to see Cas tilting his head slightly in that curious-bird way that he does. Dean can't help but smile at the sight. "I don't know who you're referring to," Cas finally admits.

"Leonardo DiCaprio. Y'know, _Titanic_?" Cas is frowning now, and Dean shakes his head. "Oh, c'mon. Everyone's seen _Titanic_. Iceberg, sinking ship, you jump I jump?" At this, Cas's lips twitch, his eyes glinting mischievously, and Dean knows he's been had. "Oh, you son of a bitch," he grumbles, and Cas is full-on smirking now.

"Of all the quotes you could've chosen. How romantic of you, Dean."

"Shut up."

Cas laughs, and Dean hears him start to type again. "I don't dislike Leonardo DiCaprio. I haven't seen many of his movies. Though his performance as Romeo in _Romeo and Juliet_ was mildly horrifying."

"Fuck, _any_ version of _Romeo and Juliet_ is horrifying," Dean counters.

"You have a point," Cas answers. A moment later, he asks, "Did you want to watch one of his films?"

"Oh. Yeah, have you seen _The Aviator_ yet? Came out two or three weeks ago."

"No."

"We should go see that. It was great—watched it with Sammy over break."

"Forgive me for being a little wary of your definition of 'great.'"

Dean rolls his eyes. "_Star Wars_ is a classic, okay? You're like, the only freak on the planet who doesn't like those movies."

"That's highly unlikely," Cas says. "If pressed to choose a movie centered on extraterrestrials, I'd much rather watch _Alien_."

"Right, because that's _so_ much more realistic."

"I'm not interested in the realism of the film, though it was framed in a very believable way. What I appreciate are the themes that it explores."

"Themes. Oh, god."

"The film is supposed to make us uncomfortable—us especially, as we're males—because it not only deals with the topic of rape and the resultant nonconsensual childbirth, but goes one step further by forcing these horrors on a male victim rather than a female one."

"Cas, stop. My brain's not made for analyzing this type of shit."

"I'm just saying that the relative lack of depth in the _Star Wars_ series makes it less enjoyable to watch."

Dean groans. "You do realize we'll be going out to have fun tonight, right?"

After a brief pause, Cas says, "I will make an effort not to overanalyze tonight's film, then. Consider it a birthday present."

Dean laughs. "Yeah all right, Cas. Thanks."

* * *

Dean settles down with a bucket of popcorn and props his feet up on the seat in front of him—the nice thing about seeing a movie after it's been out for a few weeks is that the theater is so empty. Dean sees a few people sitting in pairs, and a group of four girls sitting closer to the front.

"Hey Cas, when's your birthday?" Dean asks.

"December twenty-fourth."

"Christmas Eve?"

"Yes. And no, I did not receive twice the presents."

Dean chuckles. "Sounds like you got asked that a lot."

"Understatement."

"So it was last month. Why didn't you say anything? We could've gone out and done something fun."

Cas shrugs. "I'm not accustomed to celebrating my birthday," he answers.

Dean frowns—he doesn't want to push for information, but he really is curious about Cas's family. They've been living together for three—or four?—months now, but Cas hasn't really said anything about his family except to mention that there's conflict between them. Then again, Dean really shouldn't be talking. It's not as though he's been all sharing and open during their time together.

What Dean has picked up is basically that Cas's family doesn't sound so great. He knows that Cas is here on an academic scholarship, and that most of the money he makes at the library and as a tutor goes to paying for room and board, because his parents don't provide much money for him. Dean doesn't know if that's because they're incapable, or because they don't want to, and he's never thought it would be appropriate to ask.

He also knows that Cas stayed in the dorm over winter break. Dean had asked if he'd wanted to come over for Christmas dinner at least, but Cas had declined.

"Did you want to say something?" Cas asks, breaking into Dean's thoughts.

"Oh. No, no. Just thinking."

"I do not come from a traditional family." And yeah, that's another thing about Cas. He's always right on the money when it comes to the direction of Dean's thoughts.

"Yeah, I know. You've said so before," Dean says. "It's just… I mean, I'm not from the most white-bread normal family either, but… I don't know. We still had birthday cake and ate turkey for Thanksgiving and stuff. And you… no offense, but your family sounds so extreme and cultish."

As soon as he finishes speaking, Dean winces, wishes he could take it back—not all of that was supposed to come out. Especially the 'cultish' thing.

But after a moment of silence, Cas startles him by chuckling.

"What?" Dean asks.

Cas turns toward him, and Dean sees that there's nothing angry or offended in his expression, which is a relief. "It's fine, Dean. You aren't the first person to say that about my family, and you aren't even that far from the truth. I…" he breaks off, shakes his head. "I'd say more, but it's your birthday. We can save the soul-baring conversation for a day when we're not supposed to be having fun."

"Hey, no, I actually wanna hear this," Dean admits.

Cas fixes interested eyes on him, and Dean feels like those fucking blue eyes are looking _into_ him. Which, _what_.

"I'm just curious," he adds. "If you don't wanna—"

"I was raised by my uncle and my eldest brother," Cas says.

Dean falls silent, wondering why the hell they're talking about this in a _theater_, for Christ's sake. But the ads are still looping on in the background, and they've got at least another ten minutes before the previews start.

"I can't remember my parents. My father left before I was born, and my mother died before I was old enough to remember her," Cas says. Dean opens his mouth to say something. He's not sure what he can say—it's not as though an apology from him is going to change anything. But Cas holds up a hand, stopping him. "Don't bother. It's not a sore spot for me."

"How can it not be?" Dean asks. "They're your parents."

"I spent a long time being angry and bitter toward them. I'm done with that."

"So your uh, your mom's gone. But your dad, don't you at least wanna meet him? Find out what he's like?"

Cas shakes his head decisively. "No. He abandoned us—I have no interest in meeting him."

Dean lets the topic go—Cas claims that it's not a sore spot for him, but there's still a note of anger in his tone, and Dean gets that he should back off. "So I'm guessing your uncle is the one who's all…" he trails off and ends up making a weird spinny hand gesture because he's not sure what word to use.

"Yeah," Cas answers. "He raised us to excel at what we did and to avoid distractions. We were rewarded for our accomplishments and punished for our failures. The principles weren't bad, but the extent to which he carried out punishments and applied rewards was… extreme. And manipulative."

"Could you… give me an example?" Dean asks. When Cas hesitates, he says, "You don't have to. I'm just curious, is all."

"Yes, I'd rather not think too much about that. Perhaps another time," Cas says.

"So uh, you said your mom died before you could really remember her, but… don't you have a little brother?" Cas looks at him, surprise evident on his face, and Dean adds, "Hey, don't look so surprised! I pay attention when you talk."

This gets a smile from Cas, and he explains, "Inias, yes. He's my younger brother. He was adopted by my uncle, though I have no idea why he chose to do so. He constantly complained about the burdens of raising such a large group of boys, so it doesn't make sense that he would adopt another."

"Large group, hmm? How many siblings have you got?"

"Seven. There were eight of us, including me."

Dean whistles. "That _is_ a pretty big family. Let me guess—your uncle played favorites."

"Yes, but his favorites tended to shift with our performance. As I said, he was very manipulative," Cas says. He shakes his head and then sends a smile in Dean's direction. "I am grateful to be far away from him, and from the others."

"So your relationship with your siblings isn't so great either, I take it."

"No. Zachariah was decidedly homophobic, and he tried to raise us to think along the same lines that he did."

Shit, Dean thinks, that's really gotta suck. He's never been persecuted for liking the people he likes, so he can't relate personally to Cas's experience, but he can't really imagine not being accepted by Sam or Dad. They love him enough that even if he were gay and decided to come out to them, he's sure they would be fine with it, maybe after a little adjustment on Dad's part.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, and he means it, even though he knows it won't really change anything.

"No, don't be. It's your birthday—I shouldn't be bringing you down like this," Cas says.

"Hey. I asked you to tell me about it, okay?" Dean says. "Don't worry about it."

"I understand that normal people don't celebrate their birthdays by listening to their friends' sob stories about their horrible families," Cas says, brow furrowed, and Dean smiles.

"I don't care about what's normal, okay? Different is fine."

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but then the previews are starting, and Cas settles back in his seat. Dean turns toward him, about to say that he can keep talking if he wants to, but Cas shakes his head and jerks his head toward the big screen.

So Dean turns his eyes to the trailer that's just started, but he's thinking about what Cas told him, thinking about the shitty family Cas came from. He thinks about how Cas doesn't know his parents and wonders how that must feel, to know that your father left you even before you were born, for reasons unknown—Dean's dad may be gone a lot, but he's still always come through when Sam or Dean _really_ needed him.

Dean doesn't even want to _imagine_ what it'd be like if Sam scorned him for something that was a part of him, and he finds himself really angry at these strangers, angry on Cas's behalf because Cas is a great guy, and if these douchebags pushed Cas out of their lives, they don't deserve to have him.

But aside from a few quirks, Cas seems to have turned out fine, and Dean feels weirdly proud of him for that.

* * *

Hours later, as Dean's falling asleep that night, he thinks he hears Cas mutter his name—"Dean?"

"Mm," Dean clears his throat but doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Yeah?"

"I… you were right. I actually do wish I could meet my father," Cas admits softly.

Dean does open his eyes at this, lifts himself up onto his elbows and twists so that he can see Cas across the room, but Cas is lying on his side, facing away from Dean. "Hey, uh. Do you wanna talk about it?" he offers.

"No. I… I think I just really needed someone to hear that."

And Dean feels strangely honored that Cas chose him. Of course, he's got no clue how he's supposed to express that, and he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to say, now. But Cas saves him by speaking up again.

"Thank you, Dean."

"I uh, I didn't even do anything," Dean says sheepishly, lowering his torso back to the mattress and staring up at the ceiling.

"You're here," Cas says, and somehow, that's enough. "Good night, Dean."

Dean clears his throat again, shuts his eyes. "Yeah. 'Night, Cas."


	14. The Counsel

**A/N:** Friends are nosy.

**XIV. The Counsel**

"What happened at lunch yesterday, Dean?"

"Ugh, _go away_."

"Dean, don't make me hurt you."

"Why do you even have keys to my place, still?"

Lisa smacks Dean's hand when he tries to push her away. "Because you were too stupid to ask for them back," she answers. "Now tell me what the hell you told Cas, because he came back in with his too-big, everything's-fine-but-really-it's-not-and-my-life-has-gone-to-shit smile."

"Cas has a smile like that?"

Lisa's brow furrows. "Okay, you asking a question like that makes me wonder whether or not you're really Cas's best friend."

Dean groans. "Look, I'm hungover and I really don't wanna talk right now. Can you just go?"

"Nope. Not going anywhere. Today's my day off, and I'm going to spend it prying the truth out of your stubborn little head."

And that sounds terrible to Dean, because his 'stubborn little head' is in so much pain right now. "Why? There are better things you can be doing."

"What, like Matt? I would, but we had enough sex last night to last me a _month_, so…"

"Ugh," Dean grunts.

"Yeah, you're right, I'm exaggerating. Enough for a week at least, though."

"_Lisa_."

"If you want me to leave, tell me what I want to know, and I'll go. It's that easy."

"I don't…" Dean sighs. "Why don't you ask Cas?"

"Don't you think I tried that already?"

"And what, you think I'm less stubborn than Cas?"

Lisa laughs at this. "Honey, I _know_ you're less stubborn than Cas."

Dean just shakes his head, shuts his eyes again and tries to pretend Lisa isn't perched on the coffee table, waiting for him to spill his guts.

"Dean, I'm waiting."

"No, Lisa. Just no."

He hears her let out a fake-weary sigh. "I didn't wanna do this, Dean, but you leave me no choice."

Dean cracks an eye open, because what she just said doesn't bode well for him. But Lisa just gets to her feet and leaves the room, and… what is that all about?

And then an amazing smell reaches Dean, and just, _no_.

"Oh, that is _wrong_," Dean complains as Lisa returns with a freshly baked pie.

"I am going to sit right here," Lisa says, returning to her spot at—_on _—the coffee table, "and eat this pie right in front of you."

"Wrong," Dean repeats.

Lisa laughs again. "Well, I'm not completely evil. I'll even let you have a slice, before you tell me anything."

Dean sits up, even though he knows that's exactly what she wants, because well, _pie_. And now that he looks more carefully, Lisa does have a knife, two forks, and two plates. She cuts two generous servings of pie and passes one to Dean. He looks at it suspiciously, then throws the same look in Lisa's direction.

"Go ahead and eat, Dean. It's not like it's filled with truth serum or anything," Lisa says, and then she takes a bite of her own slice.

Dean frowns. "I wouldn't put it past you."

He separates a small bite of the pie and forks it up to his mouth. And god, it's that flaky-crusted, tangy and sweet, freaking moan-inducing apple pie, from Mama's Little Bakery—Dean hasn't had pie this good in such a long time.

"Holy crap," Dean says a few glorious mouthfuls later. His head doesn't even seem to hurt as much. Food of the gods, this is. Food of the _gods_. "How did you get this? I don't even bother trying anymore, their pies sell out so fast."

Lisa smiles, and she looks _evil_. "Matt's mom owns the bakery."

It takes a moment for that to sink in. "_Matt's mom_ is the _Mama_ in Mama's Little Bakery?" he blurts incredulously.

"What, are you jealous?"

"No! I'm a little pissed that it's taken you 'til now to hook me up with pie! How long have you two been fucking?"

Lisa rolls her eyes. "I'm not dating him for his mom's pie, Dean."

"Well you should be."

And now that Dean's almost done with his slice, he knows why Lisa decided to give him one in the first place—he wants more, and Lisa's plan is not to give it to him until he talks. _Damn it_. Dean reaches for the knife anyway, and Lisa swats his hand away.

"_Not_ for you," she says. "At least, not—"

"Until I tell you everything, right?" Dean grumbles.

Lisa smiles and reaches out to pat his cheek. "Yes, there's a good boy. So. What was so important that you had to interrupt our lunch yesterday?"

Dean grits his teeth and glares at Lisa, then the pie, and then Lisa again. Without the delicious pie to distract him, his headache returns with a vengeance. "Evil. That's what you are."

"Yes, I know," she says with another smile, and she must live for torturing Dean like this.

"It doesn't matter," Dean finally says. "None of it made any difference, anyway."

"Just tell me."

"Cas and this other guy are gonna get married and adopt kids and skip off into the sunset holding hands."

Lisa stares at him for a minute, mouth open. And then she bursts into laughter. Dean glares at her, but she doesn't stop. When she catches her breath, she says, "You have _got_ to be joking." Dean says nothing, and she takes a few breaths just to settle down. "Wow. You're completely serious."

"Yes. Because Cas is just the type of guy to skip off into the sunset," Dean says dryly.

Lisa rolls her eyes. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. You're _jealous_."

"And _you_ are out of your mind."

"If anyone's out of their mind here, it's you. You can't _stand_ that Cas has someone else, can you? God, I never thought I'd see the day." Lisa pauses to fork up another bite of pie. She takes her time chewing, and Dean feels restless.

"What do you mean?" he asks, taking the bait. Because his head hurts, and getting Lisa out of here is a priority. It'll be faster to half-cooperate than to refuse altogether.

"I mean that I never thought I'd get to see you pining."

"Wha—I'm not _pining!_" Dean says indignantly.

"Moping, then. Mourning the loss of—"

"Shut up."

Lisa sighs. "Okay, sorry. Clearly you're still sore. But this is a good thing, isn't it? You realizing that you're an actual real-live boy with feelings?"

The throbbing at Dean's temples gets worse. "Ugh, what do you _want_ from me?"

"I want to know how you feel."

"I feel like shit."

Lisa rolls her eyes. "About Cas, idiot. What are your feelings toward Cas?"

Dean shakes his head. "I'm done here, okay? So either give me some more pie, or get out."

"Fine, here. Help yourself," Lisa says, handing over the knife and pie tin. As Dean cuts himself a second slice, she says, "I'm trying to help, Dean. We were together for a long time. Friends for even longer. I'm worried about you."

"Lise, I'm fine."

"I get that you think Balthazar—"

"No, stop. Just… stop."

"Dean—"

"Shut up, all right? I don't wanna talk about it. This isn't even any of your business."

"Wow, okay. You're an ungrateful little shit, you know that?"

"Yeah, that's kinda the point," Dean says.

"You know what, if you lose Cas just 'cause you were too much of a wimp to _talk_ to him, then you deserve it."

"I _have_ talked to him, okay? There's nothing left to say."

Lisa looks disappointed. "Fine. Fine, I'm going," she says, getting to her feet. "You can keep the pie."

"Thanks," Dean says begrudgingly, because it _is_ good pie.

Lisa sends a small smile his way before turning to leave. She hesitates at the entrance, and Dean almost expects her to turn around to say something, but she just keeps walking, and a minute later, she's gone.

Now if only his headache would get lost, too.

* * *

When Anna's name pops up on the caller ID, Castiel's first instinct is to worry. She usually doesn't pick up the phone to call him, especially not when it's this late. "Is something wrong?" he asks as he answers.

"Um—what? No, I'm fine," Anna says on the other end.

"Oh. Okay, good," Castiel says, taking a deep breath to rid himself of the urgency that the phone call started in him. "Why are you calling? You never call."

"I didn't want to do this over text."

"Why?"

"I figured you'd ignore me."

Castiel frowns. "I wouldn't—"

"I wanted to talk to you about Balthazar, and about Dean."

_Oh_. In that case, Anna's probably right. "What would you like to say?" Castiel asks.

"Well, it's not so much what I'd like to say as what I'd like to hear from you."

"What do you want me to say, then?"

"I'm just… you didn't really answer my question about Dean, yesterday."

"What did you ask?"

"I asked how you two were. You said that you were fine, but… I mean, Dean actually showed up, interrupted our lunch yesterday. He never does that. And when you came back—"

"It wasn't important yesterday, and it still isn't important now," Castiel says firmly.

Anna sighs tiredly. "I just want you to be careful. I was with Dean for just over three years, and I thought I'd have him forever. It seemed like such a sure thing, and look what happened."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that if Balthazar makes you happy, maybe you really should end things with Dean, go for Balthazar instead."

"Yesterday you sounded skeptical."

"Yes, but that was before Dean pulled you out and gave you a talking-to that had you coming back in all… all unhappy. When's the last time Dean made you laugh? When's the last time he made you happy?" Anna asks pointedly.

"I'm thinking about taking up Balthazar's offer," Castiel admits.

"What is he offering, exactly?"

"Moving here permanently. He owns an estate in Britain, but he…" Castiel pauses. Balthazar had said that he'd rather be wherever Castiel wanted to be, but maybe that's not something he should tell Anna. At least, not now. Not when he hasn't made up his mind yet. "He's willing to stay here," Castiel finishes.

Anna's silent for a moment, and Castiel tries to calculate how angry she'd be if he just hung up right now and claimed bad phone reception. But he's always been a rotten liar, and Lisa and Anna have always been able to sniff the truth out anyway, so he resigns himself to finishing this conversation.

"That's a pretty big deal. How many dates have you been on with him?"

"Eight."

"But you haven't had sex," Anna says.

"No."

"And he's okay with that?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Um, that's… that's not bad."

Castiel finds himself nodding even though Anna can't see him. "Yes, Balthazar is very understanding." It's silent for a moment, and then Castiel blurts out, "Anna, I love him—Dean."

Another silence, and then Anna says, quietly, "I know, Cas."

"You…"

"I know, yes. It isn't exactly hard to tell, not when you know what to look for," Anna says.

Castiel swallows. "You loved him, too. How… how did you…?"

"Get over him?" Anna guesses. Before Castiel can answer, she says, "To be honest, Cas, I… I didn't. I'm not over him. I still hate him, and I… and I still love him."

There's _pain _in Anna's voice, loud and clear, and Castiel barely manages to stop himself just before apologizing. _I'm sorry_. Those words are meaningless. They don't change anything, don't help. His apology won't heal Anna, and it won't make either of them feel better.

And maybe Castiel _should_ ask her for lessons on how to act completely well-adjusted, because her reaction to Dean's appearance at yesterday's lunch wasn't so genuine, after all.

"Cas, you and I are… really similar. Much more than Lisa is to us, anyway. And I'm gonna tell you now that Dean… he's not going to be easy for you to get over. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Balthazar sounds like he would be good for you."

"Yes, he does," Castiel agrees numbly. He's tired of this conversation, tired of thinking about this, and maybe what he really needs is to ask Balthazar to take him away, ask him to fly them to England, so that they can get away from all this forever.

The silence stretches out between them, and Castiel just waits for Anna to say something, waits for the end of this phone call.

"Cas, you're… you'll be okay, right?" Anna eventually asks.

_No_, Castiel wants to scream. No, he's not okay, won't _ever_ be okay. Sam knows, _Dean_ knows, Anna apparently has known for some time, and now he wonders if Lisa knows as well, because even if she's not like Castiel, she's certainly perceptive.

Have Anna and Lisa talked about his feelings when he wasn't there to overhear? Were they discussing it even yesterday, when Dean dragged him out in the middle of lunch? The possibility of everyone _knowing_ and talking about it when he's not around to spare his feelings is too much, makes him feel a bit sick. So no, "okay" is not the word he would choose to describe himself anytime in the near future.

What he says instead is, "Yes, of course I will."

Anna's sigh is so quiet that he almost misses it. "All right then, Cas. I… I guess that's all."

"In that case, I should probably get to sleep. I'm proctoring a final exam early tomorrow morning."

"I'll let you rest, then. Think about what I said, okay?"

"I will," Castiel says, more to reassure her than anything else—he doesn't want to spend time thinking about what Anna's said tonight, but he has a feeling that his mind will be straying in that direction, whether or not he wants it to.

"Good night, Cas."

"Good night."

He swipes his thumb across the screen to end the call and puts his phone on back on the nightstand, stares at the glaring red digits on his alarm clock. It's a few minutes past midnight, and Castiel can't help but think of Dean, what he might be doing.

Dean should be alone at home right now, probably getting ready for bed, possibly still sulking because he didn't get his way yesterday. As unlikely as it is that Dean is actually serious about him, Castiel is aware that Dean's feeling possessive over him. It's a phase that'll pass, Castiel's sure—what he needs to do is just stay away for a while, go on with his life like nothing's wrong. Dean will get over it, and Castiel will… he'll adjust. And maybe one day, they'll go back to being friends.

But he doesn't _want_ to do that. What he wants is to go straight to Dean and tell him that it doesn't matter how Dean feels, that Castiel probably loves him enough for the both of them. That if Dean could feel for Castiel even a tenth of what Castiel feels for Dean, it would be enough.

Castiel's eyes start prickling, and that's not okay. He gets out of bed, crosses over to the bathroom, and splashes water on his face, wills the tears away. He grabs a towel to dry his face off and looks up at the mirror. Reproachful blue eyes stare back at him almost accusingly.

_You screwed this up. Dean asked you to stay with him. Would it have been so bad for you to go for it?_

He shakes his head, tears his eyes away from his reflection.

That wasn't an option, yesterday. Castiel hasn't had many sure things in his life, and as selfish as it sounds, he'd like to have something of his own. Dean was his for a short while, but Castiel's always known that he couldn't keep Dean, that Dean would inevitably move on. Balthazar wants to keep Castiel—it stands to reason that as long as Castiel wants him, Balthazar will be his.

And that's not something Castiel's ready to pass up.


	15. The Tradition: Year 2

**A/N:** Dean and Castiel watch a movie featuring Kate Beckinsale as a vampire. Castiel doesn't like it. He doesn't like Kate Beckinsale, either.

**XV. The Tradition: Year 2**

It's the twenty-fourth of January again, and Castiel's sitting in his bedroom, working on a problem set. He's always done well in math—it's logical and doesn't require any social skills, so it really was the perfect subject for him, growing up. Multivariable calculus has been interesting so far. School's only been in session for one week, but this first problem set is pretty straightforward.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Anna?" he responds without looking up—Anna's sprawled out on his floor with a giant atlas, surrounded by scraps of paper.

Last semester, she transferred to KU Lawrence. The first class that caught her interest was a two-semester geography course, and right now she's scrambling to finish up a project about topography—the students are supposed to choose a place and carve a three-dimensional topographical map of it out of a large book. Castiel has his own room in the apartment that he and Dean are renting, so Anna's claimed a spot for her project here.

"Um, you know that anthropology seminar that I signed up for this semester?"

"The one you chose because of the small class size?" Castiel recalls. He puts down his pencil and looks over at his friend.

"Yes, that one. Will Dean be unhappy if I have to skip on tonight?"

Castiel frowns. "You said that you could go."

"Yes, but that was last week. Yesterday was the first meet-up for that Anthro seminar, and the professor's taking us all out to dinner tonight. I really, really don't want to start off the semester by missing that."

"And you're worried that Dean would be angry."

"Yes. I don't want him to think I'm avoiding him."

"Anna, you spend plenty of time at our apartment. I doubt he'd think—"

"Well yeah, but I spend most of my time in here with you."

Castiel shrugs. "It'll be fine. If anything, you could offer to get dinner with him another time to make up for it."

"You think so?"

"Yes. Dean's a reasonable human being ninety-four percent of the time. He'll understand, I'm sure."

"Okay, great," Anna says. "When's he gonna get back?"

"I don't know. Forty minutes from now?"

"Hmm. I'll have to leave before that," she says.

"I'll tell him for you," Castiel says, looking back down at his homework.

As he picks up his pencil, Anna says, "Cas, I just…" she sighs. "About Lisa—"

"Don't," Castiel interrupts—this isn't the first time Lisa's come up since Anna got back from break, and Castiel doesn't want to hear it. "She's having a hard enough time as it is."

"Well whose fault is that?"

"_Anna_."

Anna sighs. "I don't understand how—I mean, I'm trying, Cas. I swear I am. But I just—it's one thing for it to happen, for her to maybe forget once, but for her to not even know who the father is? I mean, I'm not trying to be all archaic about this. I'm all for female empowerment, and taking the power back. But Lisa—"

"I understand your disapproval of her choices, but she doesn't like some of yours, either. If you don't have anything supportive to say, don't say anything."

Anna looks a bit hurt. "You say it like I've tried to put her down."

"I know you haven't. And I agree with you—it was foolish for her to be so careless. But she's going to deal with the consequences, and the least we can do is be supportive."

"Yeah, yeah," Anna says. She shakes her head. "I don't know how you accepted that so quickly. I'm still… still wrapping my head around it. I'll get there, I guess."

"I trust you will."

There's a moment of silence, and then Anna looks down at her watch. "I should probably go," she says, getting to her feet. She looks around at the messy state of the floor. "Sorry about this—I'll clean it up when it's finished, I promise."

"For the hundredth time, it's fine. Go on. I'll let Dean know you won't be with us tonight."

"Thanks, Cas. I'll see you tomorrow."

Castiel nods and turns back to his homework, only half-listening to Anna as she moves through the living room of the apartment, picking up her things. The front door slams a moment later, and Castiel's left alone—Dean shouldn't be back for about another half hour.

Anna and Castiel had invited Lisa over for part of winter break, but she'd declined, saying something about how her family wanted her to stay home for the entire break. Anna had gone home for a week, and she'd caught a glimpse of Lisa, belly round. Half an hour later, Castiel received a long call in which he was made to understand that Anna's reaction was decidedly unsupportive, and that Lisa didn't want to talk to her until she apologized.

Castiel likes to think of himself as a good friend, and he will defend Lisa from anyone, even—or rather, _especially_—her friends, but privately, he still doesn't like that Lisa was so careless with her own body, enough so that she doesn't even know whom the father of her child is…

Shaking his head, he returns to his homework.

* * *

Dean doesn't actually get back until an hour and a half later.

Castiel's lounging on his bed, reading _Eugene Onegin_ for his Russian literature course. It's translated to English, of course. He doesn't really have any prior experience with the genre, but he's got a pretty good grasp of it so far. Pushkin definitely seems to have been influenced by Lord Byron—he references _Childe Harold_, even—and, having taken a course on English literature in the past, Castiel is familiar with his work.

When the front door of the apartment bangs open, Dean sounds like he's already halfway through a shouted apology. "—Cas, meant to get back earlier, but Victor talked me into playing CoD, and yeah, I know you don't get videogames, but—"

As this point, Dean's standing in the doorway to Castiel's bedroom, and Castiel decides to cut him off. "Dean, it's fine. It's your birthday."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Well, yeah. But I'm a whole freakin' hour late, Cas."

Castiel smiles at the surprised expression on Dean's face. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm trying to let you off the hook easy. Would you prefer to be in trouble, Dean?"

"Ah, Cas. So uh, did Anna get pissed off and leave?"

"Oh. She's at dinner with her anthropology seminar, and she wanted me to extend her apologies to you for having to cancel tonight."

"Okay, at least there's that, I guess. So, you ready to head out?"

"Yes." Castiel glances at his book to check the page number before putting it down and getting up. "Shall we?"

Dean heads back out to the sitting room. "Dude, you're such a neat freak. How can you stand Anna making that giant mess in your room?" he asks as he heads toward the front door, which Castiel notices is still open from when Dean entered.

"I'm not a neat freak," Castiel denies. "I just keep my things in order. You wouldn't understand, seeing as you're allergic to organization."

"Hey, is that any way to talk to the birthday boy?" Dean says, stepping out into the hallway.

Castiel follows, pats his pockets to ensure his keys, wallet, cell phone, and Dean's present are all there, and then pulls the front door shut. "It's only the truth. I wouldn't wanna lie to the birthday boy," Castiel responds as he locks the door.

Dean chuckles and throws an arm around Castiel's shoulders, steering him down the hallway. "Yeah, yeah. I can always count on you to be straight with me."

"You might want to rethink your wording, Dean, because I am certainly not straight."

"Shut up, bitch, you know what I mean."

Castiel still doesn't understand how Dean manages to make that foul word sound so affectionate, but the beautiful grin that accompanies his use of the word definitely doesn't hurt.

As they're exiting the apartment building, Dean speaks up. "So uh, I was wondering—does Anna have anyone back home?"

"I assume you're asking whether or not she has a boyfriend," Castiel says. Dean nods, and Castiel frowns. "Dean, I know you think that I'm innocent and perhaps a bit naïve—"

Dean snorts. "_Perhaps?_"

Castiel ignores his interruption and continues, "—but I'm not stupid. I know what you're out doing on those nights when you don't make it home."

"And?"

"And Anna's not going to be… she's like a sister to me. You are not going to treat her that way."

Dean pulls open the door to the Impala but doesn't get in, choosing to watch Castiel walk around the car to the passenger side. "What, you're forbidding me from going after her?"

"If you're serious about her, then I have no problem with it. But if this is just another…" Castiel pauses, trying to find the right word, "…fling, then I highly discourage it."

"Highly discourage, eh? So it's not forbidden."

"The only reason why I wouldn't forbid it is because I trust that Anna's strong enough to stop you from taking advantage of her."

"Oh come on, Cas. You really think I'd be going after her for just a one night stand after all this time?"

That's a good point—Castiel is familiar with Dean's habits, and he usually picks up girls at parties, people with whom he's not particularly close socially, so that ties are unlikely to form. Casual sex is something Castiel hasn't experienced first-hand yet, but he's learned quite a bit vicariously through Dean.

"Just get in the car," Dean says before ducking in himself.

Castiel gets into the passenger seat and shuts the door. "So I'm to believe that you're serious about her," he says.

"Dude. Can you just answer the question?"

"That's right, I forgot. You're incapable of talking about your feelings."

Dean rolls his eyes and starts the car. "Cas," he says impatiently.

"No, she doesn't have a boyfriend," Castiel says.

Dean's reluctance to speak freely indicates that he actually might have genuine feelings toward her, and Anna hasn't exactly been subtle with her attraction to Dean. Castiel's never seen her worried about whether or not a guy would think she was avoiding him; in fact, Castiel's known her to go out of her way to avoid people who took an interest in her.

"Okay. Was that so hard?"

"Yes. It was very difficult," Castiel responds dryly. He can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy—he'll never get the chance with Dean that Anna will. Their mutual attraction is good for them, and Castiel knows that he should logically be happy for his friends, but he can't get that sour taste out of his mouth.

"I don't know," Dean says suddenly, and Castiel turns his head to look at him, curious. He sounds hesitant, not at all the way he normally sounds, and Castiel's willing to be patient, won't interrupt to ask what Dean's going on about. "I haven't… I don't know, Cas. It's been a while since I actually wanted a girlfriend."

Castiel can't hold back a small smile. Dean doesn't keep secrets when it comes to his past, and Castiel knows that Dean's only had one steady girlfriend: a beautiful girl—Dean likes to call her a "babe"—named Cassie. But though Dean told Castiel about this, he never talks about his feelings for her, _isn't good with sharing_, he says.

Castiel nods. "Yes, I gathered that from your typical interactions with the opposite sex."

"You talk like a freak sometimes, you know that?" Dean comments.

"So you've said." After a pause, he asks, "Is there any particular reason why you're interested in Anna?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. I just…" he shakes his head and repeats, "I don't know."

And it seems the short-lived sharing part of the evening is over, so Castiel changes the subject to a more immediate, though admittedly more trivial, concern of his. "Is there any chance that you'd be willing to watch a different movie?" he asks.

"Aw Cas, come on. Give it a chance," Dean says.

"I disliked the first movie," Castiel says—indeed, there were few merits to _Underworld_, a film about vampires and "lycans," which were apparently just werewolves. "I do not see how experiencing more of the same will make it any better."

"Oh, so you're saying that you've never liked a sequel better than the original?" Dean says as he turns into the parking lot of the movie theater.

"I wouldn't say never, but it is rare. No examples come to mind." He glances at Dean. "Can _you_ think of any?"

Dean frowns. "Okay, maybe not. But too bad, we're watching it," he says.

Castiel sighs. "You just think that Kate Beckinsale is attractive."

"Well, _yeah_. She's hot."

They pull into a parking space and get out of the car. Castiel starts toward the building, and Dean jogs over to catch up with him after locking the car.

"Uh, Cas," he says. "You're gonna get your ass over to my house for your birthday next year, got it?"

"It's technically going to be this year," Castiel deflects.

"Whatever. You're coming, okay? Sam won't get off my case for not making that clear with you."

Castiel smiles. "That's very kind, but—"

"For Sam's sake, okay? Kid needs someone to geek out with, anyway. Dad and I don't like all that musty ancient crap."

"All right," Castiel says reluctantly. He doesn't like to take charity, and he doesn't want to impose on the Winchesters' family time, either—he understands that Mr. Winchester isn't home for his sons very often, and the winter holiday is one of the only guaranteed times that he'll be with them. He managed to resist last month, but if Sam and Dean both insist, it'd be rude to keep declining.

They head over to the box office to purchase tickets, and if Castiel spends their time in the line looking a bit resentfully at a life-sized cardboard cutout of Kate Beckinsale in skintight leather and black combat boots, it has nothing to do with the fact that Dean finds her attractive.

About fifteen minutes later, they're seated in an already pretty crowded viewing room, despite the fact that the previews won't start rolling for another half an hour.

"If we'd chosen a different movie, the theater wouldn't be so full," Castiel says when Dean complains that he can't put his feet up on the back of the chair in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbles. He stuffs his mouth of popcorn, and Castiel chooses this moment to ask—

"Should I give you your present now?"

Dean chokes but—thankfully—doesn't spray, and Castiel laughs and pats his back until he stops coughing. "Dude," Dean says when he's done spluttering. "You know I was kidding when I said you had to get me something, right?"

"Yes, but I chose a gift for you nevertheless."

"Okay, and why here?"

Castiel shrugs. "We celebrated your birthday here last year. I thought it fitting."

"Okay," Dean says, eyeing Castiel. "So what is it, a hug? I don't see you carrying anything."

Castiel pulls a small, black box out of his pocket. "I didn't wrap it—" he begins.

"That's fine. You didn't have to," Dean says, passing the popcorn to Castiel and taking the proffered box. He frowns. "This isn't—this isn't a _ring_, is it?"

Before Castiel can answer, Dean opens the box. He stares at the ring for a long moment, and Castiel feels uneasy, has the impulse to snatch it back. Maybe it _is_ a little strange to give your male friend a ring, regardless of the reason.

"Well gee, Cas," Dean finally says, "I knew you liked me, but you didn't have to put a ring on me."

Castiel wants to catch Dean's eye, but Dean's still looking at the ring, so Castiel doesn't really have a good way of gauging his reaction to it; he knows that Dean uses humor as a means of deflecting, but he can't tell if that's what Dean's doing right now. "I—if you don't want it—"

"Wait, this isn't _your_ ring, is it?" Dean interrupts, eyes lifting from the ring to rest on Castiel.

"Ah, no. It's a replica."

"What—Cas, you had a ring _made?_"

"Yes. I ordered ones for Anna and Lisa as well, though their versions had to be restyled so that they were more effeminate," Castiel explains. He sees that Dean's about to speak, so he hurries on, "There's meaning behind them. The inscription on the inside is an ancient sigil, for protection against evil."

Protection against evil, indeed—Castiel's worn that ring ever since his finger was large enough to bear it, and while it never protected him from his uncle or his brothers, he certainly hasn't run into any real danger. It was left behind by his mother, who vehemently believed in the power of that sigil—believed it so strongly, in fact, that she designed a unique ring carrying the inscription for each of her children.

Castiel's ring is a wide band made of fourteen karat white gold, mostly plain on the outside but for a thin chain-link design that extended around the full circumference of the band. Besides the white gold itself, the most expensive part of ordering Dean's ring—and Anna and Lisa's, for that matter—was the inside engraving. Most jewelers rejected the design on account of its complexity, but Castiel managed to convince one craftsman—Ferguson—to make it work. The downside, of course, was the extra cost.

Dean shakes his head slowly. "But… Cas, why? You've known Anna and Lisa for years and years. You and I have only known each other for what, not even two years, yet. Why—"

"If you don't want it, you don't have to keep it," Castiel says, reaching for the box.

"Hey, you can't take it back," Dean protests, batting Castiel's hand away. He pulls the ring out of the box and peers at the inside, clearly trying to see the inscription.

"I don't think it will be visible in this lighting," Castiel comments. Then Dean looks down at his hand, and Castiel says, "I wasn't sure of your ring size, but I did my best to estimate."

Dean shrugs. "That's fine." He tries it on his middle finger, but it's a tight fit, so he works it off and puts it on his fourth finger instead. "There—perfect." He grabs Castiel's hand and holds it next to his to compare. "It really is exactly the same. Huh."

Castiel nods. Ferguson may charge a lot, but his work is of outstanding quality. Dean releases Castiel's hand, and he allows it to fall back into his lap, but when he looks back up, Dean's frowning.

"Cas, how did you even pay for this?"

Oh. Castiel hadn't exactly anticipated having this conversation, but he'd realized that this could come up at some point, as Dean knows about his financial struggles. "I saved up."

"How much did it cost?"

"That's something that the recipient of a gift isn't supposed to know."

"Tell me," Dean presses.

"The cost was of little importance."

"Little importance?" Dean repeats, incredulity coloring his tone. "You don't exactly have a ton of money lying around. And most of what you have goes to paying your half of the rent. You haven't missed any payments, so how exactly did you 'save up'? Did you just stop eating?"

He'd only skipped a few meals, really. "Dean—"

"Oh, shit," Dean says, and Castiel realizes belatedly that it must have shown on his face. "Tell me you didn't."

"I never went hungry," Castiel says, avoiding outright lies. Because he _did_ skip some meals here and there, but a severely limited food supply was one of the most common punishments that Zachariah applied, and Castiel knows how to make food last.

Dean's shaking his head. "Cas, how could you—you can't just—"

"_I didn't go hungry_," Castiel emphasizes. "Please, believe me. I know you, Dean, and I know how easy it is for you to start blaming yourself for the choices that others make. For this reason, I made sure never to stop myself from eating when I was hungry." Dean's looking at Castiel like he's crazy, like Dean will never understand him, and Castiel decides to just be frank. "This friendship is important to me. _You_ are important to me, Dean."

And Dean just scoffs, shakes his head, and stares back down at the band around his finger, like this is impossible for him to believe. "Yeah. Right."

"Dean," Castiel says softly, and his friend turns his head to meet his gaze. "You don't believe me. You don't think you deserve this."

He can tell from Dean's expression that he's right, but Dean shakes it off, manages a tight smile. "Hey, just don't do it again. Okay? You can't go skipping meals to buy me a _ring_, of all things."

Castiel considers telling Dean that this was nothing to him, that he suffered through a period of enforced starvation during a particularly rebellious phase in middle school, and no hunger he's felt since has ever really come close to that. But he doubts that this knowledge will help Dean's conscience, so he keeps it to himself.

"It is important to me," is what he eventually says.

"Yeah, I get that."

"So accept it."

Dean meets his stare for a long moment before nodding jerkily. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiles. "You're welcome. Happy birthday, Dean."

* * *

The movie is every bit as unremarkable and just plain _bad_ as Castiel expected it to be. And he's not going to budge on this opinion, no matter what evidence to the contrary Dean attempts to present.

"Come on, there's gotta be at least _one_ thing you liked about it," Dean persists as they walk out of the viewing room and down the long hallway, following the crowd.

Castiel frowns, really thinks about it. "I honestly can't find anything redeeming about the film."

"You didn't like any of the back story?" Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head, glances at the refreshments counter as they pass by it. "Okay, Markus?"

"I found his acting not entirely convincing. I suppose his death scene was pretty satisfying. William's death was anticlimactic. Really, Lucian was the only character I liked in the first movie—he's the only one in the franchise, at this point, but he's dead."

Dean rolls his eyes, and Castiel stops himself from going over Lucian's death in the first movie again. It's just that… there were so many ways things could have happened, so many ways that they could have saved him, yet they didn't. He accepts character death when it can't be helped, but Lucian didn't have to die. If they'd really wanted to kill him off, the least they could've done was write a better cause of death for him.

As they head for the huge glass doors, a kid who isn't watching where he's going barrels right into Castiel. Castiel's arms instinctively go out to steady him, but the kid was moving too fast, rebounds too hard, and crashes into that cardboard cutout of Kate Beckinsale.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Dean asks, but he's grinning, like he knows he can't hold it back and won't even bother trying.

The kid just gets back to his feet and takes off again, and Castiel frowns. "Wonder what his hurry was," he says.

Then Dean is elbowing him. "Dare you to take that cutout of Selene right there."

"Selene?" Dean jerks his chin at the knocked-over sign in lieu of a verbal response, and Castiel looks at him. "Why?"

Dean shrugs. "'Cause I dare you to."

Castiel glances back and forth before taking two steps over to the fallen cardboard and lifting it up. Interesting—it actually folds up rather easily. As he's folding the cardboard up, Dean shoves into his back.

"Move, move, move," Dean breathes into his ear, and Castiel catches a glimpse of theater security looking at him suspiciously before Dean's dragging him toward the exit.

They jog for about two and a half blocks before stopping to catch their breath, and it's only then that Castiel realizes he's still clutching the folded, life-size cutout of Kate Beckinsale in his hand.

"You fucker, you actually went for it!" Dean says, laughing.

"You told me to," Castiel answers.

Dean claps a hand on Castiel's back, shaking his head. "I can't believe I actually thought you might turn out to be a boring roommate during that first month."

Castiel opens up the cutout. "We are not putting this in our room," he declares, and Dean starts laughing again. His expression is so open, so charming, so sincere, and Castiel's sure that he wouldn't be able to emulate it even if he spent hours practicing in front of a mirror. It comes so goddamn _naturally_ to Dean that Castiel can't help but be jealous.

"No. No, we won't," Dean says when he stops laughing. He's still grinning when he takes Kate, so Castiel counts this trip to the theater as a win.

Even if he wasn't at all fond of the movie.


	16. The Unexpected

**A/N:** It all comes to a head.

**XVI. The Unexpected**

Dean's lying on the couch when the doorbell rings. Odd—anyone who typically comes looking for him either has a key or calls ahead of time, so who could it be? And then he remembers that Sam's home, and this person could be looking for him instead. So Dean decides to ignore it and shuts his eyes.

The doorbell rings again.

"Sammy! Door!"

"You're the one who lives here! _You_ get it!" Sam shouts. His voice is coming from upstairs, but Dean can't be bothered to get up at the moment, so Sam's just gonna have to suck it up.

"Door!" Dean repeats.

A moment later, there's the sound of a giant pounding his way down the stairs. "You're such a jerk, Dean!" Sam shouts as the doorbell rings again.

God, Dean's missed having him at home.

Then there are footsteps in the hallway leading to the sitting room that Dean's lazing in, and he grins at the thought of the stupidly annoyed face that Sam's sure to be sporting.

"It's for you," Sam says, and Dean frowns, notices that there are _two_ sets of footfalls. He sits up, opens his eyes, and immediately wishes that he hadn't, because this is the last person he wants to see.

"Dean."

"Balthazar." It's impossible to keep the frostiness out of his voice, and judging from the smirk that slowly winds its way up Balthazar's face, the smug bastard clearly hears it. Apparently Sam can tell as well, because he's frowning now, and Dean wishes he'd answered the door so he could've prevented this guy from invading his territory.

"Lovely day today, don't you think?" Balthazar says, looking way too pleased with himself.

Dean is not amused. "Why are you here? And how do you even know where I live?"

"Your family is one of the wealthiest in this city. It's not that hard to look you up."

"Okay, then. What are you doing here?"

"Um, Dean," Sam says before Balthazar can speak, "shouldn't you at least let him sit down or something?"

Dean clenches his jaw. "Right. Sit," he says to Balthazar, gesturing toward the stuffed armchair placed ninety degrees to the couch. "Please," he adds when Balthazar doesn't move, the _bastard_. Sam's eyebrows are raised, but Dean ignores the questioning look his brother sends his way. "Sammy, some privacy?"

Sam blinks. "Um, yeah. I was getting ready to go to Jess's anyway. Just… let me know if you uh, if you need anything." He glances at Balthazar, who's now situated in the armchair, when he finishes speaking.

"Great," Dean says, hardly able to keep the growl out of his voice. Balthazar is _in his house_. Why the fuck is he even here? He's already got Cas. What more can he possibly want from Dean?

Dean hardly even hears the exchange between Balthazar and Sam—one or the other says the _it was nice meeting you_ sort of polite crap, and the other shares the sentiment. Fuck, Dean wishes he'd never met the guy. Life was a hell of a lot better before Balthazar edged his way in. Ignorance is bliss, they—whoever _they_ are—all say. They're certainly not wrong.

As soon as Sam's gone, Dean repeats his earlier query. "What are you doing here?"

Balthazar leans back, crosses his legs, and looks so sophisticated that Dean wants to punch him in the face. _This_ is what Cas has chosen, a voice in his head is saying, _this_ is what he's picked over you. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"Just talk."

"Not much of a host, are you?"

"_Talk_," Dean repeats tersely.

"All right, all right. No need to be so antagonistic. I'm planning to buy a gift for Cas, and I wanted to hear what you'd recommend."

Dean stares at him—this is definitely not what he'd expected. "Why are you asking me?"

Balthazar looks at him like he's an idiot. "I thought that much would be obvious. You _are_ his best friend, are you not?"

"Um," Dean says, and there's a giant lump in his throat. "I'm not sure."

"Oh right, you're fighting," Balthazar says flippantly. "Cas might've mentioned that."

"Yeah, so—"

"Regardless," Balthazar continues, talking over Dean, "you still know him very well. What does he like?"

"He's your boyfriend, why don't you ask him?"

"'Cause then it wouldn't be surprise anymore, would it? Now, let's see if I can make this easier for you. Does he have a favorite type of chocolate?"

"If I answer, will you go away?"

"Not likely. I have a few more questions."

"I'll answer three, and then you're gonna get outta here. Got it?"

"You seem to object rather strongly to my presence here, Dean," Balthazar observes mildly—and yeah, that's the understatement of the century, isn't it?—but there's a glint in his eyes that Dean _really_ doesn't like. "It's almost as though you think I've stolen something that was yours."

"Okay, this isn't about some fucking present. What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Dean demands.

"My, oh my, what a temper. You have a pretty face, but apart from that, I really don't know what Cas sees in you."

"Oh, is that what this is about? You gonna tell me how you and Cas are a fucking perfect couple and how I'm the only thing standing between you and your happily-ever-after?"

"No, Dean," Balthazar says, and suddenly the glint in his eyes is gone, extinguished, and Dean doesn't like that either, because Balthazar looks almost _pitiful_ like this, and the last thing Dean wants to feel toward the guy is pity. "No—as much as I'd love for that to be true, the real obstacle for Cas and me is… well, Cas."

"Just get to the point, okay?"

Balthazar's eyes harden. "I don't—this isn't exactly _easy_ for me, Dean. I don't have to be here."

"Then go. You know where the door is."

The snotty Englishman is full-on glaring now, but Dean just glares right back and waits. Balthazar caves quickly, looking away as he says, "Look, I'm here because we need to settle things."

"About Cas? I'm pretty sure it's all settled already."

"It's not," Balthazar says. "You see… Cas isn't happy, and it's important to me that he be happy, so I need to know where you stand."

"It's not like I can change his mind," Dean says. "He chose you. End of story. I don't understand why you're even here—don't you have what you want already?"

Balthazar looks pissed. "Will you give up that false bravado of yours and _just be honest?_"

Dean huffs, annoyed. "What do you want me to do? It's over. Cas isn't my… my…" he shakes his head and lets his voice trail off. He can't label what Cas was to him, because he was so much more than just a best friend, way more than just a fuck buddy, but… but they were never _together_, together.

"Cas… he's yours," Balthazar says, bypassing the label entirely, and Dean hates the way his heart clenches because it's _not true_. "He's always been yours. If I'm correct, he's been in love with you since the two of you met. If you want him, all you have to do is ask."

Dean does his best to ignore the stab in his chest at this and even manages to smile, though he's sure the sight isn't pretty. "See, that's where you're wrong. Because I _have_ asked, and…" Dean shakes his head, forces the rest of the words out, "…he didn't want me."

The look on Balthazar's face clearly spells out disbelief. "That's not possible."

"Well, that's what happened," Dean says, trying for nonchalant.

Balthazar's features twist, and he looks _angry_ again. What the hell? "I was originally going to tell you that Cas and I were leaving for England soon," he says in a controlled voice.

Dean only just manages to keep his expression from changing, from showing any sort of vulnerability—the possibility of Cas really leaving is… too much. It's one thing to think they might have a chance to be friends again, like Dean is with Anna, but it's another entirely to realize that he might be going across the freaking world, where reconciliation would be pretty goddamn difficult.

"It would have been a lie, of course," Balthazar continues, and Dean feels a shiver of relief at the admission. "I was right not to do so—you're too much of a coward to do anything about it."

"I don't care what you think about me. You don't even know me."

Balthazar shrugs. "Well, I suppose a better man might not have done anything, either. Life isn't a romantic comedy, after all."

"So, what now?" Dean asks after a moment of silence. "You think I'm gonna go talk to Cas just because you came here and told me to?"

He looks resigned now, something that Dean hasn't seen on his face before. Not that he's seen Balthazar's face often. "I obviously can't _force_ you. Part of me doesn't even want you to go to him. But you should."

God, Dean had taken Cas's word for it that Balthazar loved him, but now he's seeing it for himself, and he _knows_ that whatever muddled feelings he has for Cas can't possibly measure up to this. Because he knows that if he were in Balthazar's position, he wouldn't be here, at his rival's house, asking him to talk to Cas. Hell, happy or not, Dean probably would've flown Cas out to England already so Balthazar couldn't ever put his hands on him again.

Balthazar gets to his feet. "I'm going to leave, now. Cas is free tonight, so if you ever get your head out of your arse—"

"If you're gonna go, just go," Dean interrupts.

"Fair enough," Balthazar says. "Goodbye, Dean."

"Mhmm," Dean grunts.

Balthazar exits the room, and Dean listens to his footsteps as they fade.

Okay, so maybe he _should_ drop by Cas's tonight. And this time, he's gonna go in prepared—last thing he wants is a repeat performance of that fight they had outside Bambino's.

* * *

Dean shifts anxiously in front of the door to Cas's apartment.

He still has his key to the place, but he doesn't think Cas would take it so well if he just waltzed inside right now. So he lifts his fist, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" he faintly hears from inside, and somehow even this, hearing Cas's voice from the other side of a door, makes him feel better. Fuck, he's _gone_, isn't he? "You know, I was kidding when I told you to kno—"

The door swings inward, and Cas stops himself mid-sentence.

"Dean."

Dean's mind instantly skips back to that morning in Cas's kitchen, the day that he met Balthazar and everything fell apart. His name had sounded wrong in Cas's overly detached tone that morning, but it's even worse now, layered with anger and sadness and disappointment. He can _see_ the thought flash through Cas's head, the impulse to slam the door shut.

But Cas's hand only clenches on the door, and he doesn't move. "Can I help you?"

He sounds cold, removed, and Dean feels like the words slice right through him. "Cas, I—we need to talk."

"Do we?"

This is a side of Cas that Dean's seen before, a Cas that's shut down, but Dean's never been on the receiving end before. This is Cas _trying not to love him_, Dean realizes with a pang. "Yeah," he manages. He came here to sort this all out, damn it, and he's gonna follow through, no matter how Cas takes it.

"All right, then. Talk."

"We're doing this right here?" Dean says, looking up and down the hall.

"Yes."

"Okay, then."

It's silent for a moment, and Cas just looks at Dean expectantly. Dean looks back and forth again. The hall's thankfully empty of other people, but there's no telling how long it'll stay that way. But Cas doesn't look like he's gonna budge, so this'll have to do.

"I don't love you."

Cas's mask breaks—he flinches, like the words hurt him physically, and Dean curses his mouth because it's somehow never connected to his brain, and he's just dug himself an even bigger hole.

"Yeah, I figured that out on my own, but thanks for taking the time to make it absolutely clear," Cas says.

"No, I didn't mean—just—just listen, okay?"

"I'd really rather shut the door right now, I think."

Dean lifts a hand but doesn't quite reach out, because Cas's hand is still on the door, hasn't moved to close it just yet, and Dean trusts his reflexes to be enough to stop him if he tries. "Cas, please," he says.

The muscle in Cas's jaw twitches, and then he says, "I'm listening."

"I just… okay." Dean sighs, releases the breath that's felt caught in his lungs since he stopped in front of the apartment complex, and starts. "Maybe I don't love you like Balthazar does, but I, I want to. I want _you_. Cas… last time you asked me how long. And I can't exactly say forever, but I… fuck." He breaks off, shaking his head, trying for the words that won't come—this is just as hard for him as he thought it'd be.

"Dean—"

"I'm not done yet," Dean interrupts, and his determination must be showing in his voice or on his face, because Cas shuts up instantly. "I just know that I need you, Cas. You can't—" he stops, because he's not here to tell Cas what he can or can't do. So he tries again, "It's always been just Sam and Dad, for me. I never really had anyone else, and I never really _needed_ anyone else. But I… god, I can hardly remember a time when you weren't part of my life. I can't lose you. Do you—do you get that?"

Cas's brow is furrowed, but his face is impossible to read—sure, Dean normally has a hard time reading Cas, but it's even harder right now, and fuck if it doesn't make Dean even more anxious.

"I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me, I swear," he hurries to add. "I'm just… I'm trying to be honest."

Cas huffs, something like amusement on his face, only it's more like amusement's dark and twisted half-brother. "Honest," he repeats.

"Yeah, I know, I should be suffering some sort of allergic reaction by now, yada, yada," Dean says. "I'm serious about this, okay?" And he's painfully aware of how easily Cas could take him down right now, hates feeling so open to attack. Every instinct is telling him to clam up and get out, pretend this never happened. But he waits, drops his gaze to the ground so that he doesn't have to look Cas in the eye.

"Dean, you…" Cas's voice wavers, and he pauses. When he speaks again, his tone is infuriatingly level and neutral. "Tell me what you want from me."

"What I want," Dean repeats, a little incredulous. "I want you to stay. I want you to stop seeing Balthazar. I want to… to go back in time and change those fucking rules so you couldn't have started seeing him in the first place. I want… I want…"

_I want you to be mine_, he can't say.

But then he's being jerked forward by the lapels of his jacket, and Cas's lips press to his. Startled, Dean goes into autopilot, wraps his arms around Cas and kisses back furiously.

And god, has it really only been two weeks? He'd almost forgotten how perfectly they fit together—no matter what other shit's going on, this will always be fucking amazing.

"Cas…" he breathes when they break apart for air.

Cas is shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut. "Shut up, Dean, just—shut up," he murmurs fervently, and then they're kissing again, moving into the apartment.

Dean manages to kick the door shut after he's inside, spins them around to press Cas into the door. Goddamn, he's missed this, the feeling of Cas up against him, the familiar smell of this apartment. Honestly, this place smells more like home to him than that empty husk of a house he lives in.

But he doesn't feel secure in this, not yet, because Cas hasn't said anything, and while Dean can totally get with the program—hell, he's harder than he's been all week so he's already with the program—he needs to know what's happening here, needs to know they're on the same page.

Cas has already coaxed Dean's jacket off his shoulders and is digging his nails into Dean's shoulders under his shirt by the time Dean musters the willpower to turn his head away.

"Cas, wait," he says as Cas's mouth slips along his mouth, down his throat, wet heat and suction forcing all the blood in Dean's body to rush down.

Cas nips at the base of Dean's neck, then turns his head down some more, hides his face in the junction between Dean's neck and shoulder. "Dean, this had better not be a joke."

"It's not—"

"You'd better not be joking," Cas continues as though Dean hasn't spoken.

He lets his hands slide down the length of Dean's back and pulls them out from underneath Dean's shirt, and Dean instantly misses them. But one hand comes to rest on his left shoulder, and as Cas pulls his head back, the other hand cups Dean's cheek, forces Dean to meet his eyes.

"I'm only gonna ask you this once," Cas says, "so don't answer unless you're absolutely sure."

Dean nods. "Mhmm."

Cas opens his mouth, pauses, then says, "Make sure you're thinking with your upstairs brain, all right?"

Dean barks out a surprised laugh. "Yeah, I got it. Ask."

"Did you… did you mean everything you said?"

"A hundred percent," Dean says without hesitation.

Cas's eyes are fixed on Dean's face, as though he's looking for a tell, trying to pick out a lie. And even though Dean's not lying, hasn't been more honest with himself or anyone else in his life, he can't help but worry that Cas is going to pick up on something that's not there.

But Cas finally nods, seemingly satisfied. "Okay, then," he says, and breathes out shakily. "We're good."

"Yeah we're… we're good," Dean confirms.

Cas gives him this smile, then, Dean's favorite smile—hell, he's stupid as fuck, because how did he not realize he was so gone on Cas when he decided on a _favorite smile_ of his?—and he knows. Well, of course he knows, because Cas admitted it to him already. But this, this is different. Dean sees that small, private smile, and he is completely certain that Cas loves him.

Cas loves him, and they're gonna give this relationship a shot, and Dean thinks that in this moment, nothing could possibly make him happier than he already is.

Of course, just as this thought crosses his mind, Cas decides to prove him wrong by rolling his hips once, twice, three times, and Dean groans, yanking him away from the door because if they're gonna do this now, they're gonna do it in a bed.

It's hard to walk when Cas is clinging to him like a limpet though, and when Cas gets his mouth on Dean's neck, Dean can't resist twisting and shoving him into the nearest wall, tugging on his hair to tilt his head back, make his lips accessible. Dean kisses him hard, and Cas opens for him, easy as ever, lets Dean lick, suck, and bite at him until his lips are red, swollen and abused-looking.

Dean pushes away from Cas, breathing hard. "Fuck—Cas, if you don't stop, I'm gonna fuck you right up against this wall."

And then Cas is in his arms again, pushing him into the opposite wall. "I've got no objections," he murmurs, hands slipping down to work at Dean's belt buckle.

Dean groans. "Lube," he manages to get out, and Cas pushes away from him abruptly. He's only left disoriented for a second, though—Cas stalks toward the living room, stripping off his shirt as he goes.

"I'm getting it," he says, and pauses at the end of the hall to look back at Dean. "You, naked. Now," he adds, and skips out of sight.

Dean curses under his breath and toes his shoes off, then starts down the hall, pulling off both of his shirts at once and tossing them aside. His jeans, socks lost in the pant legs somewhere, end up slung over the arm of Cas's ratty couch. When Dean reaches the bedroom, he's naked, lazily stroking himself with one hand.

"Fuck," he hisses as he enters the room—Cas is kneeling by the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows braced on the mattress, a bottle of lube placed on the ground beside his knees.

God, the offer is tempting, but it's not what Dean wants right now. He takes two steps to reach Cas, pulls him to his feet, and turns him around.

"Dean, what—"

But Dean cuts him off with a kiss, steps forward and pushes Cas down so that he's sitting on the bed. Dean drops to his knees and spreads Cas's legs, takes in the fucking delicious sight of his cock, thick and hard and curving up toward his belly.

Dean's starting to lean forward when Cas's fingers thread into his hair, holding him still. He looks up into eyes dark with desire, blue nearly overtaken by black.

"Dean, you don't have to—"

Dean shakes his head, reaches a hand out to give Cas a nice, firm stroke, and savors Cas's reaction, the way those full, pink lips part on a startled moan, the way his eyelids flutter until his eyes are nearly shut.

Dean keeps stroking, using some precome to slick the way, and Cas's hands clench and unclench in his hair. His head drops back, exposing that perfect, pale throat, and fuck, they've been apart long enough that Dean's marks have faded entirely, and Dean wants more than almost anything to lean up and fix that this instant.

But tonight isn't about that, isn't for that, so he restrains himself—he has something else in mind.

When he leans forward this time, Cas doesn't stop him, and Dean glances up to see wide eyes, black rimmed with blue, staring avidly—almost _reverently_, fuck—down at him.

Dean drops his eyes quickly, stops his strokes with his hand at the base of Cas's dick, and presses a kiss to the head. Cas stiffens, hands tense, and Dean opens his mouth, sinks down. Cas groans, muscles in his thighs coiled tight, and Dean knows he's fighting the impulse to thrust. Dean tightens his lips around the shaft and _sucks_, and Cas rewards him by making a sound like he's dying.

As Dean starts bobbing his head, he reaches his free hand to his left and snatches the bottle of lube Cas had left on the ground. He attempts valiantly to open it one-handed but finally gives in and removes his right hand from around Cas's cock to get the bottle open.

He pulls off, and Cas lets out a disappointed whine, but he doesn't try to pull Dean back onto his cock.

"Cas, scoot," Dean mutters, pulling at his calves.

Cas looks down at Dean, takes note of the open bottle in his hand, and gets the picture—he lies back and shifts forward until his ass is on the edge of the bed. Dean pours some lube over his fingers, drops the bottle, and reaches up, presses his fingers to the tight ring of muscle.

Cas hisses—_cold_—and Dean kisses his inner thigh, murmurs an apology into the smooth, white skin. He starts pressing inward and groans at how tight Cas's hole is tonight, proof that he definitely wasn't expecting this.

Dean slides his finger in all the way to the knuckle and holds it there for a moment, torturing himself by imagining how it's gonna feel when he finally sinks in, when he's surrounded by that glorious, tight heat. He crooks his finger and knows he's brushed Cas's prostate, because his hole clenches even tighter, and his back arches beautifully.

"Cas…" Dean breathes, meaninglessly, and goes about opening Cas up nice and slow, taking his time because now he has all the time in the world, has Cas all to himself, and he's gonna enjoy dragging this out.

"Dean," Cas grits out as Dean presses that spot again, and okay, maybe Dean won't be able to drag this out for too long. "'m not gonna break. C'mon."

Dean grins as he adds another finger. "So impatient," he chides, a mockery of what Cas has said to him on numerous occasions.

Cas opens his mouth, no doubt with some snappy retort on the edge of his tongue, but Dean shoves the tips of his fingers against that little bud, and Cas chokes back his response. "Dean," he groans, drawn out and pleading.

Dean's always had trouble resisting that voice, and now is no different. He adds a third finger and watches as Cas takes his fingers, shoves down onto them. "Fuck, Cas…" He gets to his feet and bends over to kiss Cas.

Cas only tries to keep up for a moment before turning his head away, shifting restlessly. "Dean, inside. Now," he demands, and yeah, that sounds like a great idea, the best idea.

Dean pulls his fingers out, snatches the bottle of lube and slicks himself up hastily—Cas's legs are wrapping around his hips to pull him in, and it's really goddamn distracting. And then Dean's there, pressed up against that tight pucker, and he hesitates a moment before slowly pushing in.

Cas tries to push back, to force Dean to move faster, and whines in protest when Dean holds him still with firm hands on his hips. Hell, Dean _would_ go faster, but this slow drag, this intimate slide in, is so perfect, so maddening, that he can't give it up. He groans when he bottoms out, Cas's channel so snug around him that it feels like he won't be able to pull back out.

"_Move_ Dean. C'mon," Cas growls, voice hoarse.

But Dean just leans forward to kiss him again, even though being bent over makes it difficult to thrust. He finally starts grinding forward, swallows Cas's little gasps as Dean fucks him with short, sweet rolls of his hips.

But eventually it isn't enough, and Dean's hips start moving a little faster, strokes lengthening despite his intention to keep this going as long as possible. Their kiss breaks, and Dean leans his forehead on Cas's, their mouths only centimeters apart, sharing breath.

"Dean…" Cas urges, barely louder than a whisper. "Dean, please—"

"Yeah," Dean manages. "Yeah, okay."

He straightens, lifts Cas's legs so that his ankles rest on Dean's shoulders, and starts really going for it. Cas grunts with each thrust, head thrown back and hands fisted in the sheets, and Dean can feel that he wants to thrust back but has no leverage in this position. Dean makes up for it by snapping his hips forward harder, faster, and when Dean finds the right angle, Cas cries out with every stroke.

"Oh, fuck—Dean—right there—_right_ there—"

Cas's voice cracks, and Dean loses himself in the rhythmic slaps of skin on skin, the perfect, unbelievably tight grip of Cas's hole around him. He's so lost in this, this overwhelmingly pleasurable haze, that he doesn't even notice how close Cas is until he's seizing, clamping impossibly tighter around Dean, mouth falling open on a soundless cry as he spills.

"Holy fucking—_Cas_—" Dean chokes out, and then he's coming, mind-blowing and earth-shattering, lifting Cas back onto his cock as he fucks through his orgasm.

His legs give out, and his entire body feels like it's filled with lead. He staggers back, pulling out of Cas as he does so, and shifts one step to the left so that he won't collapse completely on top of Cas. As it is, he lands half on top of him anyway, and Cas grunts upon impact but doesn't move a muscle.

Dean doesn't know how long he stays there, lying on his stomach with his legs partially hanging off the bed, but by the time he's feeling ready to think about moving, he's caught his breath again, and unfortunately his thoughts have caught up to him, too.

Is this for real? They hadn't _really_ talked it through or anything, just jumped straight into sex, and while that was great—fuck _yeah_, that was great—Dean feels like he's floundering now.

Where do they go from here?

Then Cas is shifting, slipping out from under him, sliding up the bed, and turning onto his side. Dean groans, forces his heavy limbs to work until he's lying across from Cas, facing him. He'd say something, but his mind is blank—he's just been fucked stupid, and the last thing he wants to do is _think_, damn it.

Naturally, Cas is the one to break the silence. "What made you change your mind?"

Dean blinks. "What?"

"About this—us. What made you think that we should—that we could—"

"Wow, Cas. I never thought I'd see _you_ struggling with words."

Cas gives him a pissy look, and Dean's chest feels ridiculously warm. "Dean, answer my question."

This sobers him up quickly, and he closes his eyes. "I couldn't… god, Cas. I, uh…" he shakes his head. "I already told you that I need you. What else… what else do you want me to say?"

"Dean, I'm not intentionally giving you a hard time. I'm just trying to understand," Cas says, and his hand comes up, rests on Dean's cheek.

His thumb brushes along Dean's cheekbone, and his eyes radiate so much fondness that Dean starts to feel uncomfortable. He shifts his gaze away from Cas, and Cas's hand starts to lift away from his cheek. Dean's eyes flick back to Cas's just in time to catch a flicker of disappointment, and he grasps Cas's hand before it gets too far away, presses it back against his face again.

"Hey, no. Cas, I didn't—I'm only just starting. Give me some time to get used to this," he says, trying to catch Cas's eye. But when he does, Cas looks guarded, and Dean huffs a sigh. "Come on, Cas. I can't have fucked this all up already."

Cas closes his eyes. "You haven't messed anything up. It's fine." He pulls his hand away slowly, places it palm-down on the bed, between their faces.

Dean hesitates for a moment before shifting to sandwich Cas's hand between both of his, pulling it closer to press a kiss to it. "I'll try, Cas. I promise."

Those blue, blue eyes flick open, and Cas fixes him with a level stare. The emotion in his gaze has been toned down a lot, and Dean wonders how Cas does it, and it hits him again that _god_, Cas had a crush on him for _years_. How could he stand it?

"We should get cleaned up," Cas says.

Dean's surprised by the sting of disappointment that Cas didn't acknowledge his words. "Tired," is all he says, and Cas frowns but doesn't move to pull away. "We can shower in the morning," Dean adds. Just as he finishes speaking, he yawns, and that's just perfect timing, really.

"Morning," Cas repeats, and Dean remembers those stupid rules they had before, the ones that hopefully aren't in place anymore, now that they're… doing something new. He's about to speak when Cas adds, with a small smile, "I'd like that."

Dean breaks into a grin and gets up to slide under the covers, prods at Cas until he does the same. As soon as Cas is tucked in beside him, Dean gathers him close, and they fit together as they always did, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. He lets out a contented sigh, because this, this was what he'd wanted almost every night they were together—to hold Cas 'til morning. And really, how could he have thought that that was just cuddling for the sake of cuddling?

Sometime later, when Dean's drifting off, he hears Cas's voice—"Dean?"

"Hmm," Dean grunts, shifting to tug Cas closer to him—his arms had loosened as he neared sleep, and now that he's more aware, Dean doesn't like the space between them.

"I'll wait," Cas says softly. "I can wait until you're ready. However long it takes—as long as we get there, I'll wait for you."

"Yeah, we'll get there," Dean says, and it's not just to reassure Cas—that warm feeling erupts again in his chest at Cas's words, and while he doesn't know whether or not that's love, he sure as hell knows that it could be. It _will_ be. "Just, promise me one thing in return, okay?"

"I'm already going to wait for you. What else do you want?" Cas asks, but there's a playful tone to his voice now, so Dean smiles.

"No rules this time," he says.

Cas huffs a short laugh. "Perhaps just one—we have to be exclusive."

"Yes, that one's fine," Dean concedes, still smiling.

"Very well, I promise." After a pause, Cas says, "Good night, Dean."

And it's so achingly familiar, reminds him of all those nights spent in their dorm room, in that small, crappy, student apartment of theirs, and they've really come so far since then.

"'Night, Cas," Dean says, closing his eyes.

Dean noses at the nape of Cas's neck, tangles their legs together, and just breathes, and he knows it's gonna be all right.


	17. The Tradition: Year 3

**A/N:** There is more in store from this 'verse! I think someone may have asked about it in the reviews. Anyway, there are a total of 30 parts, so we're just a little past the halfway mark. Hope you've enjoyed it so far :)

Dean doesn't like _Pan's Labyrinth_. Also, Cas works too hard.

**XVII. The Tradition: Year 3**

"Am I seriously the only one who thought that movie was stupid?"

"Yes," Anna says.

"Okay, no wonder you don't like good movies. You like freaky movies like this," Dean says, and he's addressing both Cas _and_ Anna when he says this, because of course Anna's taste in movies is closer to Cas's than Dean's.

"I thought you would have liked this movie," Cas says thoughtfully.

"Mhmm. Why is that, exactly?"

"Well, you should relate to Ofelia."

Um, _what?_ Dean glances at Anna, eyebrows raised, but she's nodding across at Cas, like she knows exactly what he's talking about.

"You both care a great deal for your family," Cas continues. "You both want to feel a stronger sense of connection to your family. And you'd die if it would spare your brother."

Dean blinks. "Okay, well _that_ came out of nowhere. Look, I barely got any of that from the movie. I was a bit distracted by the gigantic puking frog and the man with the freaky hand-eye things."

Dean finishes speaking just as the waitress arrives with a tray and sets down their food. "Enjoy!" she says before hurrying back in the direction of the kitchen.

Anna's rolling her eyes. "Excellent time to bring up the most disgusting scene in the movie, Dean," she says. "Now I _really_ wanna eat."

Cas huffs a soft laugh and picks up his burger. "There's not much that can rid me of my appetite," he says, and Dean grins, slapping a hand on his back.

"That's my man. You know Cas hadn't had a burger 'til he came out here?" he says to Anna.

Anna frowns. "Um, no, of course he had."

"Not a _real_ burger. Doesn't count if there's no meat."

Anna rolls her eyes again. "You are a terrible influence, Dean."

"Dude, you hunt. How the hell are you a vegetarian?"

"It _is_ more conducive to a healthy lifestyle," Cas pipes up.

"Mhmm, right. Why are you eating meat now, Mr. Tofu Burger?"

"I didn't say it was preferable to eating meat, merely that it's a more healthy choice," Cas hedges.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Anna shakes her head. "Like I said. Horrible influence."

Then Sam slides into the booth beside Cas. "Hey, guys," he says. "Sorry I'm late. How was the movie?"

"It sucked," Dean says as Anna replies, "I loved it."

Sam laughs. "Okay, then. Cas?"

"I'm fairly certain you would have enjoyed it," Cas answers before taking a giant bite out of his burger.

"Yeah," Anna agrees. "You should take your girlfriend to go see it."

Sam flushes. "She's not—we're not—I mean—"

Dean is completely content to watch his little brother struggle—after all, he's the one who told Anna that Sam wasn't coming because he was gonna be studying with his girlfriend, like a giant nerd. It's not even a complete lie, because Sam totally has the hots for this girl, and it definitely looks like she likes him back.

Cas takes pity on him. "Sam and Jess are not dating," he says to Anna, and Sam's just broken into a relieved smile when Cas finishes, "yet," and he is officially Dean's favorite person ever.

Sam barks out a surprised laugh because Cas doesn't often participate in teasing, however playful.

Cas does that squinty thing he does when he's thinking, except that it's exaggerated because he's making a joke—Dean knows his expressions well enough to tell, now—and then he says, "Though I'm not sure why not. The attraction is clearly mutual."

Sam's red as a beet now, and Dean can't hold back his laughter anymore. "Cas, this is why you're the best," he says, ignoring the annoyed look he gets from Sam.

Cas's eyes rest on Dean, and a soft look crosses his face, just for a second, a hint of one of those rare, small smiles that Cas gives him. Dean would never admits this, but he loves coaxing those smiles out because Cas looks at him like he's something precious, and _no one_ does that. And fuck it all, Dean's allowed to want someone to look at him like that—it's not the same as Sam or Dad, but it still means something.

It occurs to him that the others are talking again, so he stuffs a ketchup-drenched fry in his mouth and tries to listen to what they're saying. They're apparently going over some themes in the movie, though, so he automatically tunes back out.

"I think we've lost Dean," Anna says a while later, and Dean looks up from the remains of his burger to see three pairs of eyes on him.

"Hey, don't let me keep you from your geekery. Have fun."

"Aww," Anna coos. "Are you feeling left out?"

He barely stops himself from rolling his eyes at her, managing an unimpressed look instead, but she just smiles and leans over to press a kiss to his lips. She pulls back, and Dean can't help it—his lips curl into a smile, and it's like he can _feel_ fondness in his chest, like that's a thing that happens.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to groan and tell you to get a room?" Sam says, smirking.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean says, and the moment's over.

The waitress returns with a salad that she sets down in front of Sam, so apparently Dean missed her when she came over to take his order. God, was he _that_ out of it earlier?

"Anyway, I don't want to spoil the ending," Anna says to Sam, "but suffice it to say that I didn't really see it coming."

"Yeah, I'll definitely go see it." There's a brief pause before Sam says to Cas and Anna, "So it's been almost a month since I last saw you two. How are things?"

"Good," Cas says, but for some reason that one word rings untrue to Dean.

"Yeah, it's been pretty great," Anna's saying.

She adds something about graduating this spring, but Dean's not really listening anymore. He's focused instead on the way Cas is holding himself, the way he's paying attention, eating, everything so normal but also so _controlled_. And well, Cas _is_ always in control, isn't he? Dean wonders if he needs something to throw his life out of order. Because while Dean's around to mess with the order of his apartment, Cas doesn't really _have_ anyone.

Maybe he should.

* * *

Castiel is sort of a bad person.

When Anna kisses Dean, he wishes he could take her place. And that's a normal reaction, he knows. He has a crush on Dean, has been trying to squash it for quite some time, and it's normal to feel jealous. But he _hates_ it when Dean gets that soft look in his eyes, this look that's reserved for Anna, and it makes him think awful things about her.

A good person wouldn't want to push her right out of the booth and onto the ground. A good person wouldn't want to forbid her from entering their apartment again, out of pure spite. A good person wouldn't have thoughts about Anna suddenly having to go home to California and deciding to end the relationship because she wouldn't want to deal with the distance. A good person would be happy that two of his best friends are together and happy.

But Castiel _isn't_ happy, and he _does_ have those types of thoughts.

Conclusion: Castiel is not a good person.

These thoughts run circles in the back of his mind, and he knows that he's not really following the conversation that Sam and Anna are having, but he's listening just enough to know when to nod and when to look interested. He also knows that they're talking about whether or not Sam actually will go to KU—he's almost guaranteed to get in, of course, but whether or not he _wants_ to go is the issue.

"I don't know," Sam is saying. "I mean, I'm still not really sure what I wanna major in, but I know I'm interested in going to law school."

"It's still a bit early to be thinking about that, Sam," Castiel says, even as a voice in his head is telling him that he's not a good person, that he probably shouldn't even be at this table right now because he's an asshole who thinks terrible thoughts.

"Yeah, seriously," Anna agrees. "You still have a ton of time to change your mind. Lord knows I've changed mine pretty much as many times as a person can."

Sam shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "I mean, Dad seems to want me to y'know, 'take over the family business' when he's done, but I'm not interested in business at all, and he _knows_ that."

"Your dad doesn't seem like an unreasonable person," Anna says. "I'm sure you could talk to him."

Sam sighs. "Yeah, yeah. I mean, worst comes to worst, I could always just take off on my own. People take out loans to go to school all the time, so I could just do that. Plus, there's also the potential for scholarship money."

Castiel tries not to think about how much that would reflect his own situation. Zachariah and Michael have stopped sending money altogether, apparently deeming him lost to the family, so he has to deal with everything on his own. He still works two jobs, and it's tiring. So he knows how it feels to be so grateful for the existence of scholarships. He'd be able to make things work by taking out loans as well, but it's so much less stressful to know that he won't have to pay anyone back for his tuition.

"Yeah, definitely," Anna says. "Cas could probably help you with that. He knows so much about scholarships and stuff."

"I could try," Castiel offers. "If you ever have any questions. But I feel this will come rather far down the line—you're still in high school, Sam. And I doubt your father would choose not to pay for your undergraduate education, no matter what you decide to do after that."

"Well it's not _that_ far away," Sam says, and Castiel supposes he does have a point. "I mean, I'm a senior already, gonna be starting college in the fall. And it's obviously gonna have to affect the classes I sign up for, right?"

"Dude, don't stress," Dean says. "Dad's gonna be fine with it. Now can we not talk about _school_ over dinner?"

Sam rolls his eyes, and Anna laughs, and Castiel turns his attention to his French fries.

After dinner, they leave the diner and head out to the parking lot.

"Need a ride home, Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"How'd you get here?" Anna asks.

"Jess dropped me off," Sam answers.

He's only barely finished speaking when Anna runs the rest of the way to the car—"I call shotgun!" she shouts, and they all laugh.

"Oh, whatever," Sam says as he and Castiel get into the back. "If I wanted to sit up front, you wouldn't stand a chance."

Dean's still chuckling as he gets in up front. "Kids, you know Daddy loves you all the same," he says.

Anna punches him in the shoulder. "Hey, don't you talk down to me."

Next to Castiel, Sam smiles. "It's nice to know you can put Dean in his place."

Dean scoffs and Anna laughs. "Well of course," Anna says, reaching over and running her fingers through Dean's short hair.

Castiel turns to look out the window, because he can be okay with their relationship, but that doesn't mean he wants to see the proof of it.

They pull up to the Winchester house a few minutes later, and Sam gets out.

"You're coming to the movie with us next year, okay? I don't care how much homework you have," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, we'll see. Bye, guys."

"Bye, Sam," Anna says, and Sam jogs over toward the front door.

Dean waits until his brother's inside before stepping on the gas.

"Hey uh, Cas. You okay back there? You're really quiet," Dean says.

"What?" Castiel says reflexively, and then the question registers, and he answers, "Yes, of course. I'm just a bit tired."

It's a valid excuse for his reticence tonight. He quit his job at the library last semester to be a grader instead, and there is so much homework to grade—he's taken on grading for three math classes of about sixty students each, so he has roughly 180 homework assignments to grade each week. He did the same last semester, so he knows what he's in for, and he knows he can do it, but that doesn't stop it from being exhausting. But it pays three times as much as that library job, so it's worth it.

"You shouldn't work so hard," Dean says, and then he laughs. "But that's like asking you not to breathe, eh?"

Castiel smiles but doesn't comment. He would like to work less, and Dean knows that, so there's really no point in responding to his teasing.

They arrive back at their apartment near campus after about ten minutes of comfortable silence—the nice thing about living in a small city is that almost any destination is reachable within ten, fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if the stoplights are particularly discriminative.

Once inside the apartment, Castiel bids Dean and Anna a good night and goes into his room, ridiculously grateful that his bedroom doesn't share a wall with Dean's.

He doesn't even bother to turn on a light and walks past the piles of papers on his desk—it's Wednesday, and two of the classes he grades for have problem sets due today, so he hasn't even started on them yet. The third class has problem sets due Tuesdays, and he's still got about ten assignments left in the stack from yesterday.

He flops down onto his bed and stares up at the dark ceiling.

This is stupid. He's known Dean for over two years now, almost two-and-a-half. Dean's been dating Anna for about a full year, and before he'd started courting her, he'd had a consistent string of one-night-stands, all with women because Dean is a heterosexual male.

Castiel is a reasonable, logical person. He should be over this awful… _crush_, by now. There's absolutely no excuse for his continued interest in Dean. No excuse for the way his eyes linger, no excuse for the images that flit through his mind when he touches himself—images of large, strong hands; a broad, muscled back; plump, pink lips; long, dark eyelashes and blazing, green eyes—

Castiel stops himself mid-thought, sits up with a jolt.

Dean is in the same apartment, probably about to or already well on his way to having sex with his girlfriend, who also happens to be Castiel's close friend. The last thing Castiel should be doing is fantasizing about him.

He groans and gets to his feet. He was up 'til just past four last night and got up around eight this morning so he'd love to just knock out right now, but he feels wired, too worked up, knows that he won't be able to get any rest because his brain hates him.

So he turns on his desk lamp and takes a seat. Might as well finish up that first stack of assignments, maybe even get started on the second…

* * *

Dean wakes up on his back, a heavy weight on his chest. He looks down and sees red hair, illuminated by the moonlight that's filtering into the room from between the blinds. He runs a hand through her hair, lifts his head to kiss the top of her head.

A glance at the digital clock on his nightstand tells him that it's two thirty in the morning.

And he wants to go back to sleep, but he feels parched.

He struggles with himself for about a minute, debating whether or not it's worth it to brave the cold to go and get a glass of water from the kitchen. In the end, his thirst wins out, and he carefully shifts out from beneath Anna. She mumbles a bit in her sleep but doesn't wake.

Dean gets up, grateful that Anna made them shower before bed because he's nice and clean now, and slowly makes his way out of his room and over to their small kitchen. Once there, he grabs a mug, fills it with tap water, and downs it in a few gulps.

Feeling refreshed, he starts back toward his room, but a sliver of light catches his attention, now that he's more alert. It's coming from under Cas's door, and he frowns—Cas really shouldn't be working at this hour.

Dean crosses the small living room and raps lightly on the door, but there's no response, so he pushes it open a crack. "Cas?" he whispers.

And then he sees Cas, slumped over his desk, head resting on folded arms. His lamp is still on, and he's still got a red pen held loosely in his right hand. Dean finds himself grinning, shaking his head as he pulls the door open wider and enters the room.

"Cas?" he says, a bit louder now, placing a hand on Cas's shoulder and shaking him a little. He groans but doesn't stir. "Cas, buddy—let's get you to bed, 'kay?"

Cas grumbles something unintelligible in a complaining tone, and Dean smiles, tugs at his shoulders.

"Hmm… Dean?" Cas mumbles.

"Yeah, Cas, it's me."

Cas tilts his head back, rests the top of it against Dean's chest, and smiles up at him, wide and relaxed and unguarded, and Dean feels his breath hitch in his throat, because he swears this is a smile he hasn't seen before. Cas takes a deep breath, sighs, and closes his eyes again, seemingly content to go right back to sleep, just like this.

"Hey," Dean says, jolting Cas a little. He pulls the pen out of Cas's lax grip, caps it, and puts it down on the desk. Then he hooks his hands under Cas's arms and _lifts_, and god—Dean's lifted Cas up before, but he's so much heavier when he's half unconscious.

But then Cas gets his legs under him, supports most of his own weight, and Dean just has to guide him over to his bed, yank back the covers, and let him lie down.

Dean doesn't usually wake up in the middle of the night—when he's out, he's _out_—and he wonders how often this happens, how often Cas just collapses at his desk, too tired to even get in bed. That can't be good for him.

As he pulls the covers out from under Cas's feet, his mind flashes back to all the times he used to tuck Sammy in at night, and looking at Cas's features, so soft and relaxed in sleep, he feels weirdly yet fiercely protective. Dean tugs the covers up over Cas's shoulders and sits down on the edge of the bed, not even bothering to resist the impulse to tuck him in.

Cas's eyes flutter open as Dean finishes, and he gives Dean another one of those sleep-stupid smiles.

"Hey," Dean says, unable to stop himself from smiling back. Cas's wide eyes, big and blue, make him look ridiculously innocent on a regular basis, but when he smiles like this, he looks downright _adorable_—and it _must_ be really late, because Dean seems to have grown a fucking vagina.

"Hmm," Cas grunts in response, and his eyes close again. "Good night, Dean," he murmurs.

"'Night, Cas," Dean answers, and watches Cas's smile fade as he falls asleep.

Then Dean stands up, reaches over to turn Cas's desk lamp off, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He crosses the apartment to his own room in a hurry, because the cold is getting to him, and a warm bed is beginning to sound really freaking fantastic right now.

Anna's still asleep when he enters the room, so he gets in bed slowly and manages to slide under the covers without waking her. Dean is officially a ninja. He takes her hand in his, lets their joined hands rest under the covers between them, and looks up at the blank ceiling.

Resolving to talk to Cas in the morning about going to bed when he's tired like a normal human being, Dean closes his eyes and eventually drifts off.


	18. The Seasons, Part 2: Spring

**A/N:** Dean knows how to make Castiel feel better.

**XVIII. The Seasons, Part 2: Spring**

Castiel's always been fond of springtime. It's that time of year when flowers bloom, and the temperature is perfect for him to sit outside with a really good book and just read to his heart's content. Dean loves calling him a nerd for it, but he ends up following Castiel out most days, anyway.

At the moment, Castiel's halfway through reading _A Clash of Kings_ for the second time—it's been a long time since he last read the books, and since he didn't have a chance to read _A Dance with Dragons_ when it came out, he wants to reread the series so that it's all fresh when he finally starts the latest book.

Meanwhile, Dean's taking a nap, head pillowed in Castiel's lap.

"Mm, that's nice," Dean mumbles.

Castiel glances down, distracted. Green eyes peer back up at him, and okay, maybe Dean's not sleeping. Castiel's hand stills, and he realizes that he'd been absentmindedly running his fingers through Dean's soft hair, rubbing his scalp.

"Keep going," Dean says, lips quirking up a bit.

Castiel briefly considers jiggling his legs to ruin Dean's rest, but Dean looks so comfortable here, stretched out on the grass. So Castiel does as he's told, and Dean rewards him by shutting his eyes and making a rumbling sound low in his throat that is suspiciously similar to _purring_.

Yes, Castiel loves springtime.

* * *

It's nice, warm, and sunny today, a perfect spring day, and any other time Castiel would be outside with a book, taking advantage of the lovely weather.

But right now, Castiel can't enjoy it. He just got off the phone with his boss, and everything in the world is awful because Amelia Novak's going on maternity leave this fall, and they need someone to take over her position teaching Complex Analysis, and sure, maybe one of Castiel's majors back when he was a lowly undergrad was pure math, but that doesn't mean he actually _remembers_ any of it now, years later.

He's running fingers through his hair agitatedly when Dean wanders over. He takes one look at Castiel and says, eyebrows raised, "What's wrong?"

Castiel explains the situation, finishes with a complaint about how he doesn't remember any of this shit, so how the hell can he be expected to teach it? Honestly, is the administration really _that_ desperate?

Dean listens to it all with a fond smile, but even that isn't cheering Castiel up like it normally is. "Listen," Dean says, "you're one o' the smartest people I know. You have a whole summer to prep before you actually gotta start teaching, and… you're awesome. Don't worry, Cas. You got this. Okay?"

He breaks into a soft laugh on the last word, and Castiel can't help the smile that twists his lips at that sound. "Thank you, Dean," he says.

Dean grins, leans down to press their lips together, and Castiel thinks that maybe, just maybe, it won't be a complete disaster.

"Mm," Dean hums as he pulls back, licking his lips. He grabs Castiel's hand. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?" Castiel asks, allowing himself to be pulled along.

Dean doesn't answer, and a few minutes later, Castiel finds himself seated in the passenger seat of the Impala, looking at the shops as they pass by.

And after a few more minutes of silence, Castiel gets it. This is what Dean does when he's upset, or stressed out, or just wants to relax for a bit—he goes out for a drive, leaves his worries behind for the length of time while he's behind the wheel. For that period of time, it's just him and the two-lane blacktop, and that's perfect for him.

Dean doesn't like words. Anyone who knows him well is aware of this. He doesn't like them because that while they're effective for communication, they're also so easily misunderstood, manipulated, twisted until they carry different meanings.

While Dean's gotten better about speaking his mind, actually talking about the things that he feels, Castiel has become accustomed to taking cues from his expressions, his actions, and he loves that Dean is sharing this with him. Dean shoves him into the Impala, takes him for a drive, and it means _Don't worry, Cas_, and _Everything's gonna be fine_, and, most importantly, _I care about you_.

They leave the city and drive out for about another half hour before turning around to head back to town. On their way home, Dean parks the car in front of Mama's Little Bakery, and Castiel smiles, because in Dean's world, pie makes everything better.

"I love you, too, Dean," he says.

Dean flushes, and wow, Castiel will never get over how lucky he is to actually have Dean now. "Shut up, Cas," Dean says, because no matter how much he's been improving, he'll probably always be at least a tiny bit allergic to feelings.

They get out of the car and walk over to the bakery, and as usual, there's a long line, out the door. But Dean just walks to the side, around back, and Castiel follows, rolling his eyes, because Dean _would_ be too impatient to actually wait in line—every time they come here, Dean tries to skip out on waiting. They stop in front of a door that says "Employees Only," and Dean looks at Castiel expectantly.

"What?" Castiel says, playing dumb.

"Oh come on, you know we're more likely to get the pie if you knock," Dean says.

"True, but I'm not as interested in pie as you are. I wouldn't really mind if we didn't get any," Castiel says nonchalantly.

"Cas, don't be a dick."

And well, Dean was extra caring today, took him on a drive to make him feel better, and Castiel supposes he does owe Dean a pie. So he reaches out and raps three times on the door, steps back to give it room to swing open.

"Oh, hello," the man says when he opens the door.

"Matt," Castiel says with a smile. "I thought you were out of town this week."

"Yeah, I just got back maybe… half an hour ago? I was just helping my mom out a bit. Baking's a good way to relieve stress." Matt's eyes flick past Castiel to land on Dean, and it's sort of ridiculous given that Matt and Lisa are _engaged_ already, but Castiel knows that Matt still doesn't like Dean because of the ex-boyfriend thing.

"I haven't tried it many times, but I've found it to be more stressful than it is relaxing," Castiel answers. "I can't seem to keep myself from making a mess."

Matt laughs. "That's part of the fun! You've gotta make a mess when you're baking."

"Who are you talking to?" a voice calls from inside, and then Lisa's face pops up over Matt's shoulder. "Oh, you two," she says, smiling warmly, and Matt steps back to let her stand in the doorway. "Go help Owen with the customers, 'kay? That line's getting way too long," Lisa says to him.

Matt presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, guys." He disappears into the kitchen, and Lisa smiles, hands on her hips.

"Let me guess."

"Don't bother," Castiel interrupts. "We know you know."

"Y'know, I must have foresight or something, because I actually just packed up a pie to take over to your guys's place," Lisa says. Castiel doesn't have to look at Dean to know that his eyes just lit up. "Anyway, it was gonna be a surprise, but… here, wait a sec." Lisa goes back into the kitchen, and the door swings shut behind her.

When it opens again, Matt's mother is standing there. "So which one of you two is in love with my pies?"

Castiel steps back so that he's beside Dean, and Dean lifts a hand, grinning. "Guilty."

She smiles and holds out a hand for Dean to shake. "Jody," she says.

"Dean," Dean answers, taking her hand.

Jody extends her hand to Castiel next, and he takes it, offering his name as well. Her hands are smooth, only a bit wrinkled, and she has a very firm grip.

"It's nice to meet some of Lisa's friends for once," Jody says.

"Hey, it's not my fault you hate flying," Lisa says from behind Jody.

Dean chuckles. "That makes two of us."

"No kidding?" Jody says. "I've always known I couldn't be the only one, but it's nice to hear that a strong young man can also have a fear of flying."

"Yeah, I'd much rather be behind the wheel o' my baby," Dean says.

"Well, I like a man who takes control over his own destiny."

"Jody, I swear, I have no idea what you're talking about, sometimes," Lisa says, edging past Jody to hold a pie out to them. It's closer to Castiel, so he takes it and passes it to Dean, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

A hand on his arm stops him, and he looks up into Jody's large, brown eyes. "Don't worry about it, honey. This one's on the house."

"Oh," Castiel says, surprised. "I—are you sure?"

Jody laughs, and it's a lovely sound. "Yes, of course I am." As she finishes speaking, a timer goes off in the kitchen, and she half-turns. "Oh! Seems it's time for me to get back to work—thank you for stopping by, boys."

"Thanks for the pie, Jody," Dean says, and she just waves a hand dismissively as she disappears back into the building.

"Hey, we've gotta do that double date we've been talking about, okay?" Lisa says, and Castiel cringes reflexively.

"What double date?" Dean says.

Lisa looks surprised, and then she starts laughing. "Oh, you haven't said anything yet!" she says to Castiel.

"Obviously," Castiel says dryly.

"Dude, I'm not doing a double date," Dean says. "It's so… _college_."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun," Lisa says.

"I don't—"

"You can still have sex after a double date. I mean, it's not like we'll all be going home to the same house or anything," Lisa reasons, and Castiel has to laugh at the look on Dean's face.

"Lisa, don't worry. I'll talk him into it," he says.

"Cas!" Dean says, looking betrayed.

"Okay, great. I'll see you two lovebirds later," Lisa coos, and Dean throws a dirty look her way. She pulls the door shut, and Dean and Castiel walk back around toward the parking lot.

"We're not doing a double date, okay? Matt already doesn't like me."

"And you think a double date would make it worse? I think he likes you just fine. He's just possessive over Lisa because you two used to be together. It's a territorial thing. Animals do it, too."

"Yeah? Well how come you're not all territorial whenever we're around Lisa, then?"

"Because I know Lisa, and I know you, and I know that whatever was between the two of you is now over. It helps that I think our relationship is stable," Castiel replies easily.

Their relationship really _has_ become stable. It's been almost a year since the car-wreck-ending of their casual relationship and the tentative beginning to their romantic one, and while Dean still hasn't managed those three words, Castiel is secure in his belief that Dean's getting there, that he _will_ get there eventually.

As an afterthought, he adds, "Also, I trust you."

"So what you're saying is that Matt doesn't trust Lisa?"

"No, not necessarily," Castiel says, pausing to think about it.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter," Dean says as he gets into the car. "We're still not going on a double date with them, and that's final."

Castiel smiles. "For now."

Dean glances over at Castiel's expression and groans. "Oh, come _on_. You can't just—it's wrong to use sex like that, man!"

"I wasn't even thinking about sex," Castiel says innocently, looking down at the pie in his lap. "I was thinking more along the lines of hiding this pie from you. Withholding sex leaves both of us unsatisfied, but I don't mind when there's no pie. It's much more effective."

"Cas," Dean groans. He starts the car and maneuvers it out of the parking lot. "You come between me and my pie, and I'm gonna rip you into pieces."

Castiel smirks. "That's really not discouraging at all, Dean. You know I'll enjoy it."

Dean mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but when they're at a stoplight and he looks over at Castiel, he's smiling despite himself. "Cas," he says, his voice a bit softer than usual, "don't ever change."

And Castiel just smiles and silently vows that he won't.


	19. The First Time

**A/N:** Castiel goes on a date, Lisa visits Lawrence, and Dean feels guilty, as usual.

**XIX. The First Time**

The silence is awkward, the conversation stunted. Castiel is fairly certain that it is his fault; he's never been socially adept, and he's starting to regret letting Dean talk him into this.

But Dean had looked so hopeful, and Castiel had been swaying stupidly between glee that Dean cared enough to try to set him up with someone and disappointment that Dean's efforts proved that he'd never look at Castiel that way. Castiel's crush was ridiculous to begin with though, and maybe going on a few dates would help, he'd thought.

Yeah not so much, he thinks now, looking at the young man across the table from him. The guy's already finished off three cans of beer and is working on a fourth, and he's hardly eaten any of his food. Castiel gets the feeling that he doesn't plan to finish it.

Through their exchange, Castiel's learned that Ash is a physics and computer science double, and that he would have chosen math as a second major if he didn't love computers so much. But aside from an interest in math and a mutual friend in Dean, they have next to nothing in common.

"Y'know, no offense or anythin', but this ain't workin'," Ash says as Castiel finishes eating, and Castiel finds himself chuckling.

"I agree," he says.

"Thought so," Ash says. He downs the rest of his beer and slams the empty can down with a satisfied sigh. "So, wanna get outta here?"

Castiel blinks, because he's heard Dean say this to the girls he wants to sleep with. "I thought you said—"

"Well yeah, you and I wouldn't work, y'know, romantically, but we're both good-lookin' guys, and there's nothin' stoppin' us from havin' some fun."

"You think I'm good-looking," Castiel says.

"Well, sure. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Yes."

Ash stares at him for a moment before laughing. "I like you. So, whaddya say? Wanna come home with Dr. Badass?"

Castiel considers this for a moment. Indeed, Ash is not unattractive and appears to be well-versed in these matters, and Castiel would like to try sex. He nods, and Ash breaks into a grin. "I suppose I should warn you that I don't have experience in this arena, so you will have to take the lead," Castiel says.

"Oh, come on. No way you're a virgin," Ash says. Castiel just looks at him, completely serious. "Okay, then—that's fine. I'll make it good for you. You trust me?"

Castiel hesitates, then says, "Yes." He trusts Dean, feels certain that Dean would never set him up on a date with someone who would hurt him.

"We won't have any problems, then," Ash says, and then he turns in his seat to get the waiter's attention.

* * *

As he enters their apartment, Castiel hears the sound of the television blaring and frowns, because the Impala wasn't out front when he came in. And then he recognizes the sounds as live football coverage and remembers that Dean's friend had planned to come over today to watch the game. "Hello, Victor," he says as he shuts the door behind him, raising his voice so that he can be heard over the television.

"Cas," Victor acknowledges as another voice pipes up—

"I'm here, too!"

"Hello, Jo," Castiel adds as he toes his shoes off.

"So," Jo says as the sports program cuts to a commercial, and she pauses to mute the television. "We heard you didn't come back in last night," she finishes.

"You heard correctly, then. Where is Dean?"

"He went to pick up Anna," Victor answers, and Castiel belatedly remembers that today's the day Anna comes back from California—after she graduated, her family had forced her to go home, but she had been adamant on returning to stay in Lawrence with Dean, and they hadn't been able to sway her.

Jo waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, forget about Dean. How was your date?"

Castiel frowns, trying to think of a way to describe it. "Not unpleasant," is what he settles on, because it's true. The actual "date" portion of the night was far from ideal, but the sex was surprisingly good. Except that he's now sore and feels as though he's walking funny. Perhaps he would prefer "topping" next time.

He walks past Victor and Jo on the couch and goes into his bedroom to remove his coat and hang it up in his closet.

Jo's footsteps follow him into the room. "Not unpleasant? That's really all you're giving me?"

"Is it inadequate?"

Jo rolls her eyes. "Honey, you're gorgeous and tons of people would love to date you, but it'd really help if you didn't talk like a crusty old college professor."

"This is the way I talk. I don't feel inclined to change."

"Anyway, uh. Any particular reason why you didn't pick up your phone last night, besides the obvious?"

"It ran out of battery," Castiel says. "I apologize—did you try to reach me?"

"No, but Dean did," Jo says.

"Oh. Why?"

Victor chuckles—he's appeared in the doorway without Castiel's notice. "He was worried 'bout you."

"Yep," Jo confirms. "Those mother hen instincts of his…"

"Oh," Castiel says. "When he returns, I will reassure him that I was fine last night."

Jo turns her laugh into a cough. "Yeah, you do that."

Castiel frowns and wonders why Jo would laugh at him. Is that not the right response? Unless Dean wasn't really worried, and Victor and Jo are just making fun of him—Castiel seems to miss these jokes sometimes. He lets it go, and when Victor and Jo leave the room abruptly, he assumes it's because coverage of the game has resumed. Sure enough, the sounds of the television float into his bedroom a moment later.

"Cas, you wanna watch with us?" Jo calls from the other room.

Castiel moves to the doorway and responds in the negative before pulling it shut. Sporting events couldn't ever really hold his attention.

He picks up his leather bound copy of _The Complete Sherlock Holmes_, a birthday gift from Sam this winter. He hadn't had much time to read it during the year, but he's been reading it since school let out, and he's almost finished now—yesterday afternoon he finished "The Adventure of the Lion's Mane," and according to the Table of Contents, he only has three stories left.

He's really enjoyed the stories immensely, and he only wishes there were more. He'll have to come up with something very good to get Sam for Christmas, since his birthday passed about a month ago.

Smiling, Castiel settles down on his bed and opens the book.

* * *

"Wait," Anna says, putting a hand on Dean's forearm before he can get out of the car. "You look distracted—what's wrong?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Can we go now? I really miss Cas," Lisa says from the backseat. She's coming to surprise Cas, and she brought her baby along too, which means she has a ton of baggage for Dean to carry—fantastic.

"Yeah, let's go," Dean says, flashing a grin Anna's way to prove that he's fine. She doesn't seem to buy it, but she usually sees through his bullshit, so it isn't exactly a surprise.

Anna and Dean unload the trunk, and Lisa watches them, resting Ben on one hip. Then they enter the building and start climbing up the stairs toward Dean's apartment.

Dean wonders if Cas is even home—he didn't come home last night, and he wasn't answering his phone, which means he probably went with Ash, and Dean knows that Cas is fully capable of taking care of himself physically, but it'd be so easy to trick him. Cas is terrible because he always believes the best about people, and the fact that Ash could have taken advantage of Cas is just _killing_ Dean, because it would be entirely his fault.

Then a set of knuckles raps on his head, and he yelps, startled. "Ow!"

"Unlock the door, you moron," Anna says, and Dean realizes that they're already in front of the apartment. "See?" Anna continues. "Distracted."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean puts down a suitcase, unlocks and opens the door, and lets Anna and Lisa in ahead of him.

"Oh hey, Daddy's home!" he hears Jo shout from inside—figures she'd come along with Victor.

Dean rolls his eyes and enters the apartment, hands full. He kicks the door shut behind him and sees Victor taking Anna's bags from her.

"You must be Lisa," Jo's saying, and then she's getting off the couch to introduce herself.

By the time Dean's in the living room, everyone's been introduced. Dean frowns. "Hey, where's Cas?"

"Yeah, where's Cas?" Lisa echoes, handing Ben off to Anna. "I owe him a gigantic hug and a noogie."

Dean puts down Lisa's bag and goes over to Cas's, room, knocks on the door. "Cas?" he calls.

"He's in there," Victor says when Cas doesn't respond. "Came in about twenty minutes ago."

"Okay," Dean says, frowning. It's not like Cas to ignore him—is something wrong?

Dean pushes the door open, and Cas looks up from his spot on the bed, a book propped open in his lap. Seeing Dean, he smiles and removes his earbuds, and oh, okay, so he just didn't hear.

"Hello, Dean," he says, putting his book down and getting to his feet.

"Hey, Cas," Dean answers, and he's stupidly relieved to see that Cas is okay, though if Ash manipulated him into anything, he'd probably _think_ he was fine anyway. Dean will have to talk to him about that. But Cas is walking past Dean and into the living room, probably to say hi to Anna, and Dean turns just in time to see him get practically assaulted by Lisa.

"Wha—" Cas starts, and then his arms are wrapping around her, squeezing tight. "Lisa! What are you doing here? Is that—is that Ben?"

Lisa backs off—no noogie, Dean notes—and smiles widely. "Yeah, that's Ben." She takes him from Anna and holds him out to Cas. Cas smiles and takes him easily. Ben goes without complaint, staring at Cas's face, and Anna laughs.

"He likes you a lot better than Dean," she says.

"Hey, that's not fair," Dean protests. "He was already getting fussy when you passed him over to me." Besides, they were still at the airport, and aren't babies supposed to be nervous in huge public places or something?

Ben burbles, then smacks a hand against Cas's cheek and coos.

"Figures that you'd be good with kids," Jo comments.

"It's the eyes," Anna says, nodding, and Dean has to stare at Cas because it looks like he's _blushing_, which is not something that happens often.

After an appropriate amount of cooing over the baby, Lisa takes Ben into Dean's room to put him to sleep.

"How were the parents?" Jo asks Anna in the meantime.

"Oh, god," Anna says. "Let's not talk about them."

"Are you staying?" Cas asks.

Anna nods. "Yeah, I'm staying. I am so sick of doing whatever my mother wants."

"She actually told her mom to 'shove it,'" Lisa reports, emerging from Dean's bedroom. "Can you believe that?"

It _is_ pretty surprising. Dean hasn't met any of Anna's family before, but Cas and Anna have told him enough about them, and he's heard how respectful Anna's tone is whenever they're on the phone.

"Let's not," Anna repeats.

"Is everyone free for dinner?" Cas asks, changing the subject in a way that's obvious and awkward and just so _Cas_ that Dean has to smile. Anna shoots him a grateful look.

"Yes, we _should_ do dinner," Jo says. She turns to Lisa and adds, "I keep hearing about you from Cas and Anna, and it's about time we got to know each other."

"Yeah," Victor agrees. "And if we have nothing else in common, we can always bag on Dean."

"Oh come on now, that just isn't fair," Dean says, and the others laugh. Dean gets a feeling that this is gonna be one of those dinners that's somehow fun and awful at the same time.

"Okay, so dinner tonight," Lisa says. "I'm down for it. Where are we going?"

"The Roadhouse," Dean says immediately, and Jo evil-eyes him. Dean just counts it as payback for laughing with the others—he'll get them all back eventually.

"Ooh yes, let's," Anna says. "I love Ellen."

This makes Jo groan, and when Lisa just looks confused, Cas explains, "Ellen is Jo's mother. She owns the Roadhouse."

"Ugh, I don't want my mom watching over us the whole time," Jo complains.

"Last time she only stopped by one time," Victor says.

"You guys do this to torture me, I swear."

"Nope," Dean says innocently. "I just like the food."

"They do serve very good burgers," Cas agrees, because he's awesome and always has Dean's back. Jo just shoots evil eyes at him too, but Cas is the master of staring at people until they look away, and Jo doesn't bother with it for too long before giving up.

"Well, there's just one problem," Lisa says. "I've got Ben."

"Oh, that's no problem. Sam can look after him," Dean says.

"You don't even know if he's free tonight," Anna points out.

"I'm sure he is," Dean says. "If he's doing anything, it'll just be going over to Jess's house, and she loves kids, so…"

"So it's settled," Anna says. "The Roadhouse it is."

* * *

"I would not mind sleeping on the couch."

"For the last time, I'm not kicking you outta your own room, Cas."

"I'm shorter than you—I don't need as much leg room as you do."

"Cas, if you're not okay with sharing, tell me, and I'll take the couch," Dean says.

"I'm fine with it."

"Okay, then."

Castiel still hesitates a moment before lifting the covers and sliding in beside Dean. He stares up at the ceiling and silently curses Anna for kicking Dean out of his room. She wanted to do something like a sleepover with Lisa, and they originally considered staying at Anna's apartment instead, but Dean pointed out that it'd be more convenient to just have them all under one roof, since the girls would be coming over to hang out with him and Cas anyway.

And his argument makes sense, but Castiel doesn't want to share a bed with Dean. After all, sharing a bed with the guy who stars in all of one's fantasies isn't exactly conducive to ending those fantasies.

Dean clears his throat and shifts his weight on the bed, and Castiel turns his head to see that Dean's rolled onto his side, facing him. "Hey, Cas. I uh, wanted to talk to you."

"We've been together most of the day," Castiel says, frowning.

"Alone."

"Oh." There's a brief pause, and Castiel wonders what Dean might want to tell him without the others present. And then he remembers what Jo and Victor had told him this afternoon when he came in, so he asks, "Is it about my date with Ash? I missed your calls because my phone died—I'm sorry."

"Oh. Yeah I uh, I figured."

Another silence, and Castiel decides to give Dean some more time to collect his thoughts by turning onto his side. His legs curl upward naturally, and his knees brush against Dean's. He shifts backwards a bit on the bed to put some more space between them.

When Dean still doesn't speak, Castiel prods, "Dean, you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah," Dean says, and he looks almost reluctant. "Look, I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'm fine," Castiel says, frowning—should he not be?

"I mean, I was just—I didn't think you'd go home with him on the first date. Hell, you told me you hadn't even kissed before," Dean says. After a pause, he asks in a lowered voice, "Ash didn't pressure you, did he?"

"Dean," Castiel says, letting a grin form on his lips, because it's comical that Dean would think Ash could force Castiel into anything, "were you worried about me?"

"Cas, I'm not joking," Dean says, and Castiel suddenly sees what Dean must be thinking, realizes what the problem is. "If Ash did something to you that you didn't like—"

"—it would _not_ have been your fault," Castiel interrupts, because he knows Dean well enough to know that he finds some way to blame himself for everything. "Dean, you are not responsible for my well-being."

"No, but I was the one who introduced you to him, so—"

"Stop. Nothing happened last night that I didn't want. And if I hadn't wanted it, I could have stopped him at any point. I know how to take care of myself, Dean."

"But… dude, Cas. It was your first time. I thought you'd want something more than a one-night-stand."

"Before Anna, you had one-night-stands all the time." There's a twinge in his chest at the thought that Anna was the one Dean decided to settle on, that Anna was the one Dean stopped sleeping around for, but Castiel's gotten so good at ignoring his jealousy that he barely even notices it.

"Well yeah, but—"

"But what, it's different?"

"Yes."

Castiel frowns. "How? How is my choice to have casual sex any different from yours?"

"Because you—because you're—"

"Because I'm _what?_"

"Because you're _Cas_."

Castiel doesn't even know what to say to that and finds himself blinking at Dean for a while. Dean just stares back, and Castiel wonders if Dean even meant to say that. What the hell is it supposed to mean? Castiel isn't allowed to have one-night-stands because of who he is?

Finally, Dean sighs and shakes his head, a hand coming up to cover his face so that his next words come out slightly muffled. "Sorry. Sorry, I just. I don't know, man. You—you're different from pretty much anyone else I know, and it's… I don't know."

"So what you're saying is that you expected me to be a person who…what, who saves himself for marriage?" Castiel says incredulously.

"Well—no, but I thought you wouldn't give it up so easily, y'know? You're… you're better than that."

"I still don't understand why you disapprove. You did it too, so you shouldn't be casting judgment—"

"Jesus, Cas, I'm not _judging_ you. I just…" Dean cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh.

"Why this double standard, then? Why are you allowed to sleep around while I'm not?"

"Because you're better than me, okay?"

Castiel glares at Dean and reaches up to pull his hand away from his face. "Dean, look at me," he says when he realizes that Dean's eyes are closed. With a sigh, Dean opens them, and Castiel is caught off-guard by how perfectly the deep pools of green reflect the moonlight filtering in through the blinds. "I am no better than you are," he says, gaze firmly locked with Dean's. "I don't understand where you got this notion that you're _worse_ than me somehow, but it's wrong, and I want you to stop thinking it."

Dean shakes his head. "Cas—"

"No—Dean, I mean it. This isn't the first time you've implied something like this, and I need you to understand that I am just as base, just as _human_, as you are, and there is nothing wrong with that. You joke around about corrupting me, and that's fine, so long as it remains a joke. We are not so different, you and I."

Castiel falls silent and waits for Dean to respond, but Dean just stares at him, and Castiel wonders if his words are even getting through to him.

And then Dean huffs a short laugh and looks away. "Yeah, okay. No more pedestal for Cas—got it."

From the way Dean says it, Castiel gets this horrible feeling that he may have _disappointed_ Dean, and he bites his lip. "Dean," he says, and Dean looks back at him again, "have I… have I disappointed you?"

"What? No," Dean says, shaking his head. "Look, I was mostly just worried that Ash talked you into doing something you didn't wanna do."

"That's not what I'm talking about. The fact that I'm not… not _better_, as you insist. Does that disappoint you?"

"No," Dean repeats. "Cas, you're my best friend, and I don't think you could disappoint me if you tried."

The words are sincere, words that Castiel loves and hates in equal measure, and Castiel smiles, despite the conflicting emotions in his chest. "I'm glad," he says, and it's mostly true. He's glad that Dean considers him his best friend, because this is as close to Dean as he can possibly get, and he has to be content with it.

Dean grants Castiel a soft smile, and he feels so privileged—Dean's very closed-off as far as emotions go, and it makes moments like this all the more precious to Castiel. "Good night, Dean," he says, closing his eyes.

"'Night, Cas."


	20. The Tradition: Year 4

**A/N:** Aaaaaaahhh shit sorry I forgot to post last night bc I am trash. Sorrryyyyy xD

Dean has a pointless argument with Anna.

**XX. The Tradition: Year 4**

"I _did_ appreciate it," Castiel says defensively as they walk down the hallway. "I'm just saying that it wasn't quite as good as _No Country for Old Men_."

"Mm, I see what you're saying," Jess says. "Did you notice? There wasn't even _one_ important female role in that film."

"I don't think they were exactly going for women's rights or anything," Anna says.

"No, but that doesn't excuse excluding us entirely," Jess counters, and Anna nods her concession.

"Well, I think it was just as good," Dean says. "I'd say it was better, but then again, you can't go wrong with Tommy Lee Jones, so…"

"You just like him because he was in that movie with the aliens," Castiel says, and Dean gawks at him.

"Dude. _Please_ tell me you haven't forgotten the name of it."

Castiel shrugs. "The movie was not particularly memorable to me."

Dean sighs and looks at the others. "Someone tell Cas that he's wrong, and _Men in Black_ is amazing."

"You're wrong, and _Men in Black_ is amazing," Jess says.

"You're not supposed to do as he says," Sam immediately chides, but Jess and Dean are too busy high-fiving to respond.

Honestly, Castiel understands that people like _Men in Black_, as well as its sequel, but he just isn't particularly interested in extraterrestrial movies, and _Alien_ remains the only one that he enjoys.

"I thought Daniel Day-Lewis was beautiful in this one," Anna comments, bringing the conversation back to the movie they just watched.

"Hmm. I wouldn't have thought that," Dean says in response, and Anna laughs.

"Of course not, idiot. You're not gay."

Dean glances at Castiel and asks, "Cas, what do you think?"

Castiel shrugs. "Not my type. Besides, I watch movies for content, not for the lead actors."

"Well, it doesn't hurt when the lead is gorgeous," Anna says, smiling.

Castiel pushes open one of the glass doors and walks out of the theater, holding it open for his friends to exit. Jess laughs and thanks him, and Anna calls him a gentleman, and Dean, the last one through after Sam, flashes a smile in his direction.

"Hey, Winchester!" an unfamiliar voice calls, and Castiel watches as both Sam and Dean jerk around toward the source of the voice.

Dean breaks into a grin. "Gordon, hey," he says, heading in that direction. Castiel turns and sees a dark-skinned male who looks about their age. His eyes are dark, but he's smiling amiably enough at Dean.

"So, who're your friends?" Gordon asks, coming toward the group.

"God, you're gonna make me introduce everyone?" Dean complains, and Gordon just nods expectantly. "Okay, then. Gordon, meet Sam, Jess, Cas, and Anna."

"S'nice to meet you," Gordon says, smiling. "Did you just finish a movie?"

"Yeah. _There Will Be Blood_," Dean says.

Gordon nods. "I'm about to see that. Good?"

"Oh, it's great," Jess says.

"Daniel Day Lewis is gorgeous," Anna adds.

"Not Cas's type though, apparently," Sam says, grinning.

Gordon's eyes flash to Castiel briefly, and Castiel typically avoids making hasty judgments, but he instantly doesn't like the look on Gordon's face. After the implication that Castiel is gay, Gordon looks at him like he's dangerous, like homosexuality is deadly, and it's catching.

"Is he _your_ type?" Gordon asks, eyes returning to Sam and making him splutter.

"Oh, yes," Jess teases, linking an arm with Sam. "He already liked Dan before the movie, but now I'm sure he's in love." Sam rolls his eyes but says nothing.

Gordon opens his mouth to respond, but his phone goes off, interrupting him. He pulls it out. "Oh, that's my sister—she's meeting me here. I'll catch you later, Dean."

"Yeah, see you."

Gordon brings the phone to his ear and walks away.

Castiel watches him walk a short way before following the others into the parking lot. "I don't like the look of that guy," Anna's saying as he catches up. "How do you know him, Dean?"

"He's in my Mech E class this semester. And Gordon's a bit rough around the edges, but he's a good guy," Dean answers.

Castiel doubts this, but he says nothing.

Anna, however, doesn't remain silent. "A good guy? I don't know about that," she says, and Dean frowns at her.

"More importantly, why did he think _I_ was gay?" Sam says.

"'Cause I'm so obviously out of your league that people assume you're my gay best friend when we're seen together," Jess says.

Sam scoffs, and Castiel chuckles, expecting Dean to jump in on the teasing. But he's looking at Anna instead, frown still very much in place.

"Anna, if you've got a problem with me, tell me. Don't take it out on my friends."

"What? I'm not," Anna protests.

"Oh, you're not? So this is about Gordon, and not about the fact that I chose not to go to California with you over winter break?"

"Dean, stop," Castiel says.

"It's not about that at all," Anna says, and she's glaring at him now. "I don't hold grudges like that, unlike _some_ people."

"Okay, fine. What's your problem with Gordon, then, if you're fine with me?"

"You really wanna know?"

Dean shakes his head and comes to a stop by the driver's side of the Impala. "Anna, you've known him for about five friggin' seconds. What can you possibly—"

"He's a homophobe!" Anna blurts out.

"What? No, he isn't."

"Dean, the doors?" Sam prods.

"Yes, he is," Anna says heatedly. "I don't know if you're blind or what, but did you _see_ the way he looked at Cas?"

"How? _How_ did he look at Cas?"

"Dean, we're in public," Sam says. "Open the damn doors."

Dean turns his eyes to Castiel, who quickly avoids eye contact. The last thing he wants is to be dragged into the middle of a fight between Dean and Anna. He's never liked watching friends fight—the rough patch between Anna and Lisa about Lisa's pregnancy had been decidedly unpleasant for him.

"Cas—" Dean starts.

"Dean, the _doors_," Sam insists, frustrated.

Dean opens the door and ducks into the car, and by the time everyone else has gotten inside, the engine's already started. The drive out of the parking lot is silent.

"So uh, are we still doing dinner?" Sam asks.

"I actually have an early start tomorrow, so if you could drop me off at home…" Anna says.

"Sure," Dean answers.

Tense silence fills the car, and Castiel looks out the window and waits for the tension to die down. It'll be better when Dean and Anna are separated and have a chance to calm down.

They've been short with each other for the past two weeks because Anna had wanted Dean to go with her to meet her family over vacation. But Christmas is the only time of year when Mr. Winchester is guaranteed to return home and spend time with Sam and Dean, so it is completely understandable and not at all surprising that Dean would choose to stay in Lawrence.

Castiel had attempted to explain this to Anna, and while she claimed to understand, she also said that her parents were giving her pressure. They wanted—_still_ want, actually—to meet the man Anna's been dating for almost two years, especially now that she's opted to stay so far away from home for him.

The suggested compromise, which has yet to be agreed upon, is that Dean will go to California in the summer after graduation, and Anna will take a week off work to go with him, so that her parents will know who he is. Of course, Dean's against this plan because he's never been the type for commitment, and it's become clear to Castiel that Dean is uncomfortable with the idea of meeting Anna's parents.

"Y'know, for what it's worth, I didn't see Gordon do anything bad," Jess says, breaking the silence.

Sam groans. "You're not supposed to bring it up."

Meanwhile, Anna's saying, "Then you just missed it. He definitely—"

"Anna, stop it," Dean cuts her off. "Just admit that you're still mad at me, and—"

"You self-centered, blind idiot. Not _everything_ is about you, okay?" Anna shoots back.

Beside him, Castiel hears Sam mutter, "Shouldn't have let her sit up front."

"I don't like him because he's a homophobe, not because he's your friend," Anna finishes.

"Gordon's a good guy, all right?" Dean says.

"Fine. He's a 'good guy' who just _happens_ to hate gay people."

"Cas," Dean says.

Castiel looks up, meets Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror for a moment. "Eyes on the road," he chides.

Dean obediently turns his eyes back to the road as he says, "Did you see Gordon lookin' at you funny?"

"Please don't pull me into this argument," Castiel replies.

"Oh come on, Cas! You're supposed to have my back, man."

"Not against me, he isn't," Anna counters.

And that's just it, isn't it? Castiel considers both of them to be his closest friends, and he doesn't ever want to have to choose between them. As much as he'd thought about them breaking up earlier on in their relationship, he always knew that he wouldn't enjoy it a bit, because he'd inevitably end up having to take part in one argument or another, and he knows he wouldn't be able to side with one of his friends without feeling guilty toward the other.

Then the car is slowing to a stop in front of Anna's apartment.

"I'll see you guys later," Anna says. She leans in to give Dean a quick, perfunctory peck on the cheek before sliding out of the car and walking toward the gate.

"Okay, then," Sam says as the car starts moving again. "Where to now? And can we please go someplace where the main course isn't burgers, this time?"

"Hey, I have to put up with rabbit food on your birthday, so you've gotta suck it up and eat real food on my birthday."

Sam shrugs and bumps his shoulder against Castiel's. "Worth a try," he says.

Castiel returns his smile because Sam really is an amazing brother, knows exactly what to say to ease Dean's stress. Already, Dean is leaning back in his seat, posture much more relaxed than before, and Castiel figures it won't take too much longer for Dean and Anna to get over this little bump in the road.

* * *

"Dean."

"Hey, Gordon," Dean says, looking over as Gordon takes his seat. "How'd you like the movie?"

"Oh, it was good. Lots o' blood and violence—just my type o' movie, to be honest."

"Yeah, I hear you." Up front, Professor Heyerdahl is walking into the room and taking out his notes, but Dean still wants to talk, is itching to prove that Anna's wrong about his friend, so he says, "Hey, listen. I was wondering, what'd you think of my friends, when you met them last night?"

Gordon glances at Dean. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

Gordon looks at Dean for a little while longer before speaking up again. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but since you brought it up…" he licks his lips. "Why are you associating yourself with… with their type?"

Dean starts to get a sinking feeling in his chest. "Their type? What do you mean by that?"

"Those two guys—Sam and… Cas, was it?"

"Yeah, Cas."

"I don't get why you'd wanna be around them. Don't they make you uncomfortable?"

"What's wrong with them?" Dean says defensively.

"Well, they're gay," Gordon answers. Dean just stares at him, because fuck, Anna was right, and they were fighting over nothing. When Dean doesn't answer immediately, Gordon frowns and says, "Dean, I'm surprised at you. You're a good man, you know what's right and what's not. So why are you hangin' out with the likes o' them?"

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but the professor is calling for order, and he waits for the class to quiet down a bit. Then the lecture starts, and Dean leans toward Gordon.

"Sam's my brother. I'd be around him no matter what," he whispers.

"Oh, wow. I'm sorry," Gordon whispers back, as though it's something tragic.

This only makes Dean angry. "There is nothing wrong with being gay," he mutters.

Gordon stares at him, eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you're joking." When Dean only lifts one eyebrow in response, Gordon shakes his head. "Unbelievable. It's not right, being gay. Homosexuality goes against everything—science, religion, no matter what you believe in, it's not right. It's not _natural_."

Dean's glaring at his friend—not his friend, not anymore—by the time he finishes. "Right, because _you're_ the best judge of that. Who are you to say what's natural and what's not, hmm?"

"Are you—you're serious about this. Well, it seems I've totally misjudged you."

"_You've_ misjudged _me?_ You're the homophobic dick, not me."

"Excuse me," a voice says from the front of the room, and Dean realizes that shit, he wasn't exactly whispering anymore. "Do you have something to share with the class, Mr.…?"

Dean clears his throat. "Uh, Winchester."

"Winchester," Heyerdahl repeats. "Well?"

"I've got nothing," Dean answers.

Heyerdahl stares at him for a moment before saying, "See me after lecture."

The lecture resumes, and when Dean looks over, Gordon has this unbearably smug look on his face. But he's paying attention and taking notes, and Dean lets it slide. Damn it, he's gonna have to go and apologize to Anna.

* * *

Just under an hour later, as the lecture hall starts emptying out, Dean makes his way to the front. He'd considered just slipping out, but when he glanced up, Heyerdahl was looking right at him, the freak, so Dean figured it'd be safest to just go up to him and deal with it. Gordon muttered something about faggots under his breath and then scurried away before Dean could clock him, which really was all for the best, because Dean didn't exactly want to get charged for assault and battery.

"Mr. Winchester," Heyerdahl says when Dean reaches the front, and his smile is particularly nasty. Dean wants to wipe it right off his face. "What was so important that you had to interrupt my class?"

"Nothing. It won't happen again."

"Well, I can't exactly just take your word for that, now, can I?"

Dean frowns. "Okay, so what do you want me to do?"

"Hmm…" Heyerdahl hums, looking Dean up and down, and Dean really, _really_ doesn't like the predatory gleam in his eyes. "We'll have to see about that, won't we?"

Heyerdahl takes a step closer, and when Dean looks around the room, he notes that it's completely empty, now. Then the professor's hand is closing around Dean's wrist, and he starts to jerk his arm back, only to find that he can't—the skinny professor is freakishly strong.

Dean's eyes widen, and his thoughts must show on his face, because Heyerdahl tuts and says, "Now, now, Mr. Winchester, let's not—"

The classroom door swings open then, and Heyerdahl instantly releases Dean's arm, backs up a step to put more distance between them.

"Hello, Professor," a familiar, gravelly voice says, and Dean turns to see Cas standing in the doorway.

"Oh, Castiel. Hello—it's always nice to see you," Heyerdahl says, though the look on his face says the exact opposite. "Why are you here?"

Dean is itching to walk over to Cas, but he doesn't know what's going on here. Thankfully, Cas solves the problem by entering the classroom, a stack of papers in his hand.

"I was hoping to catch you before you left," Cas answers as he reaches them. He's a solid presence at Dean's side, his shoulder brushing against Dean's, and Dean instantly feels better.

"Oh—thank you," Heyerdahl says, taking the papers from Cas. Dean recognizes them as the math homework that Cas was grading last night. "You didn't have to deliver them personally."

Cas's lips quirk into a small smile, but when Dean really looks at him, he sees that Cas's eyes are hard, focused, challenging. "I finished them early, so I thought I'd get them off my hands."

"Efficient. I appreciate that. If only all students were as diligent as you are," Heyerdahl says, and he's returning Cas's stare evenly. But no one, not even a seasoned professor, can best Cas's brand of stare, so he's the first to turn away. "Well, then. I'd better go." He turns his gaze on Dean. "Mr. Winchester, I will see you back in class, bright and early, Monday morning."

"Yeah, great," Dean says.

Heyerdahl picks up his bag and leaves the room. Dean and Cas wait about a minute before heading for the door.

"That was some pretty nice timing, Cas."

"You're welcome. What did you do to catch the professor's attention?" Cas asks.

"Nothing." Cas raises his eyebrows, and Dean says, "Okay, so I might've interrupted his lecture a little."

Cas frowns. "Heyerdahl is a professor you shouldn't irritate. Even his lower division classes are brutal."

"What, are you hinting that I should switch sections?" Dean asks. He holds the door open for Cas, letting him step outside first.

"Everything okay?" a girl's voice says as Dean exits the room. There's a blonde standing in the hallway, looking between him and Cas, and Dean frowns—he doesn't recognize her.

"Yes, everything's fine," Cas answers. "Thank you."

"Friend o' yours?" Dean asks. The girl's pretty, with large, hazel-green eyes and small facial features. Dean doesn't think he's seen her before.

"Wow," she says before Cas can answer. "You don't even recognize me, do you?"

"Uh…"

"Rachel, please—" Cas starts.

"We met a few times before," the girl—Rachel—says.

"We have?" Dean says, trying to remember her face.

"To be fair, Dean was intoxicated the few times that you met," Cas says.

And well, that explains it. Dean can usually remember events, or the things he did as long as he's not too smashed, but he's awful at remembering people.

Rachel huffs. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to show a little gratitude. How do you think Cas knew to come get you, hm?"

"What?" Dean says.

"I received Rachel's text message toward the beginning of your lecture and finished grading early so that I could return the assignments to Heyerdahl in time to catch you," Cas explains.

"Oh. Wow—uh, thanks, then," Dean says. So apparently Rachel's in his class, too.

"Yeah, whatever," Rachel says. "If I were you, I'd switch out now. It's only been a week, and you really don't wanna start off on the wrong foot with Heyerdahl."

"Dude. Is he really that bad?" Dean asks. "It's not like he can actually _do_ anything to me."

"That's what you think," Rachel says ominously. Without explaining herself, she turns to Cas. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Yes. Thank you, Rachel."

Dean watches her walk away before saying, "You really think I should switch sections, just for this?" Cas only nods in response. "So I should be scared of this guy."

"Are you trying to say that you weren't scared earlier?"

"Dude, I had it all under control."

Cas smiles indulgently, and that look would piss Dean off on anyone else's face, but not Cas's. "Of course you did," he says. "Just transfer, okay? Ferris is a better professor, anyway. She's more fair."

Dean sighs. "I really don't wanna have class from four to five."

"Well, no one told you to interrupt Heyerdahl's class. What exactly did you do?"

"I was talking."

"You couldn't whisper?"

"I got worked up, okay?" Dean says. Cas stares at him, and Dean waits expectantly for Cas to ask what he was talking about, or who he was talking to.

But instead, when Cas opens his mouth, what comes out is, "Gordon?"

"How'd—you sure you don't have some freaky mind-reading mojo you're not telling me about?"

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean decides that he's been hanging out with Jo way too often because rolling eyes is just not a thing that Cas does. "You just came out of a Mechanical Engineering course. Gordon's taking it with you. You fought with Anna about him last night. Naturally, you'd try to prove yourself right this morning."

"Naturally," Dean repeats. "So how'd you know that I would get worked up over that?"

"I guessed."

Dean narrows his eyes, because the surety in Cas's voice slipped a little—Cas has never been the best liar, and he especially sucks at lying to the people he cares about, like Dean or Anna. Dean sighs. "You knew, didn't you? Last night, you knew that Anna was right." Cas just looks guilty. "You know, you could've said so."

"You were angry. You would've seen me taking Anna's side, and that's it. It's impossible to make you see reason when you're upset."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm glad you appreciate my honesty," Cas says, deadpan, and Dean laughs.

"All right, c'mon. Let me buy you lunch or something."

"There's no need. I'm not hungry."

"Well, you came all the way out here, and you don't even have class 'til three."

"I was planning to go to the library," Cas says.

"Nope, you're coming with me," Dean says, throwing an arm around Cas's shoulders and starting to walk away from the classroom. Cas drags his feet a little, because the library's in the opposite direction. "Oh, come on. At least until my next class."

Dean's next class, which is in an hour, is a Greek classics course that he hates. Thankfully, it only meets once a week for two hours. Sucks that it's gotta be on a Friday, though.

Finally, Cas gives in, says, "Very well," and allows Dean to steer him down the hall.


	21. The Tradition: Year 5

**A/N:** Going up a little early with this one bc I went off schedule yesterday aaaahh.

Castiel's determined to remain neutral, so naturally, his friends keep bringing the drama to him.

**XXI. The Tradition: Year 5**

"Pretty great movie," Dean says. "What did you think, Cas?"

Castiel shrugs. "I've never found horror movies particularly compelling," he answers. It's true that the acting in _My Bloody Valentine_ was not half-bad, and the 3-dimensional effects were used well, but he just doesn't like the genre.

Dean nods. "Fair enough."

"I'm just glad you didn't force me to watch the third _Underworld_ with you."

"That's right," Dean says. "You _should_ be thankful."

"I actually thought that series was pretty good," Lisa comments.

"_Thank_ you. A normal human being," Dean says.

They fall silent on the walk to the car, and Castiel watches Dean. He and Anna broke up a little over a week ago, but the fighting's been going on for months. They even took a few breaks, but this split seems pretty final.

Lisa has taken Dean's side, but Castiel's been trying his best to stay out of the fights—he can be supportive if either friend needs it, but he refuses to argue for either side. It's led to more than a few awkward, unhappy conversations with both Anna and Dean, but the point is that he doesn't want to lose either friend entirely. If he has to go through a rough patch with each of them in order to keep them both, he'll do it.

As Castiel slides into the back seat, he sees in the mirror that Dean looks unhappy. By now, he knows better than to comment because that'll only end up in discomfort for everyone involved, but of course, Lisa goes ahead and asks anyway.

"Dean, are you okay?"

There's a brief pause before Dean says, "I'm fine."

Castiel wants to tell Lisa to stop, but before he can, she presses, "You sure?"

"For the last time, I am _fine_. If you guys ask me that again, I swear to god I'm gonna hurt you."

"Okay, okay. Sorry for caring," Lisa says, shaking her head.

Castiel allows a moment of silence before asking, "Did you still want to get dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean answers.

"Why don't we go back to my place and cook?" Castiel suggests. "I have a few steaks marinating in the fridge."

"I really don't feel like cooking, so s'long as you plan on doing all the work, I'm fine with it," Dean says.

"That's the plan."

"Okay, then."

Castiel starts to think about what he's making along with the steak, what he can do to trick Dean into eating some more vegetables because his diet really is atrocious. And then his phone rings, surprising him. He pulls it out and picks up.

"Cas, are you home right now?" Anna asks.

"No. I'm with Dean."

"So you're still celebrating his birthday with him, you mean." Her tone is disapproving, but Castiel ignores it.

"Yes," he says.

"Well, when are you gonna be home?" she asks.

"Soon, but Dean and Lisa will be with me."

From up front, Lisa asks, "Is that Anna?"

Castiel nods as Anna says through the phone, "I wanted to talk to you."

"Cas, hang up," Lisa says.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" Castiel says into the receiver.

"Is Lisa telling you to hang up on me?" Anna asks.

"No. Anna—"

"Forget it. Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"I will. Bye."

"Bye."

When Castiel hangs up, Dean says tightly, "You got something to do tonight?"

"Only your birthday dinner."

"You sure about that? Not gonna go meet up with Anna?"

"Dean, stop. Please," Castiel says.

"Hey, I'm fine with it if you are. She's been your friend for _years_, so—"

"Dean!" Castiel blurts out, louder than he intended, startling Dean into silence. Castiel finishes in a lower voice, "I don't want to fight."

"Cas, I don't get it," Lisa says. "Anna's inflexible, and demanding, and judgmental, and I just—you remember how she reacted when she found out about Ben, don't you?"

"Lisa, I don't want to keep having the same conversation. It's over, all right? Stop trying to force me to choose a side," Castiel says.

Silence.

When they reach Castiel's apartment, Dean puts the car in park but doesn't cut the engine. "Y'know, I don't feel like going up. Let's just call it a night, 'kay?"

Castiel bites his lip, because this is actually something he saw coming. It's hard to imagine just how uncomfortable it would be if Dean _did_ stay for dinner tonight. He seems to have a hard time dealing with the fact that Castiel chooses to remain close to Anna, after everything.

"Fine," Castiel finally says, pushing the door open. "Let me just bring your present down."

"You can get it to me later," Dean says.

Castiel pauses, one foot out the door. "You can't wait two minutes?" he asks, looking back into the car.

"All right, go get it," Dean says, relenting.

Castiel gets out and shuts the door behind him, then heads into the apartment building. He lives on the fourth floor now—after graduating, Dean moved back into the Winchester house, and Castiel moved into a smaller apartment one floor above the one they used to share.

When he gets inside, he walks into the kitchen and shakes his head at the mess. Cooking he can do just fine, but for some reason, baking's turned out to be impossible for him to do cleanly. He grabs the apple pie he baked a few hours ago, covers it with a sheet of tin foil, and heads right back out of his apartment, into the stairwell. A minute later, he's walking around to the driver's side of the Impala and knocking on the window.

Dean rolls it down. "Jesus, Cas, this smells awesome," he says as Castiel hands the pie over. He lifts the foil to take a peek. "Since when did you know how to bake?"

Castiel isn't about to tell Dean that he'd never baked before and actually went through a few trial runs in the past few weeks to make sure the pie would turn out right today, especially not when Dean's being such a dick, so Castiel just shrugs and walks back around the car.

"Hey, wait," he hears Dean say. "Cas, I…"

"It's fine, Dean. I understand," Castiel says, barely pausing to answer before pulling open the door to the apartment building. "Good night." He walks inside and shuts the door behind him before Dean can answer. Maybe that was a dick move on his part, but he really can't bring himself to care. Dean's probably just rubbing off on him.

When Castiel gets back up to his place, he looks around again, takes in the mess that he's made of his kitchen. He heaves a sigh and gets to work on the cleaning.

* * *

"Aw fuck, I'm an idiot."

"It's okay, Dean. Cas doesn't hold grudges."

"Well I know, but… never mind. Let me take you home."

Dean puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. In his peripheral vision he sees Lisa turn toward him slightly as though she's about to start talking, but she turns away to look out the window, seemingly thinking better of it. Dean can't help but feel relieved. The last thing he wants to do right now is _talk_.

God, he's so stupid.

He really shouldn't be taking out his frustration on Cas, especially when all this shit between him and Anna doesn't actually have anything to do with Cas. It's not Cas's fault that Anna wants to get fucking _engaged_, not Cas's fault that Dean's not ready for that kind of commitment, not Cas's fault that everything in Dean's life is going to shit right now.

He really wishes he could go back to Anna, 'cause she's great and eats like Sammy, which really means she eats like a rabbit, and she makes really awesome soup when he's sick, and she sings terribly in the shower, and she can somehow hunt deer and be a vegetarian at the same time and not even find it the slightest bit weird.

But the thought of being with only one person for the rest of his life, even if it _is_ Anna… it's too much, and Dean doesn't want it. He likes having options, being able to back out.

He likes _freedom_.

But if he's completely honest with himself, which really doesn't happen all that often, he's afraid. He's afraid of letting someone in, letting someone get under his skin, close enough and dear enough to him that if he ever loses them, he'll end up just like Dad, hurt and broken and lost to everyone else.

Dean makes it to Lisa's apartment building pretty much on autopilot. He knows the way very well—_too_ well. After all, Lisa and Anna share an apartment. When Lisa decided to join Cas and Anna in Lawrence, Anna asked Lisa to move in with her, and that arrangement had worked out perfectly. Until Anna freaking _proposed_, that is.

"You wanna come up for a drink?" Lisa asks.

"Anna—"

"She's staying in a hotel," Lisa answers before Dean can ask. "Apparently it's too hard to live with me."

Dean can't help the wave of guilt that washes over him. This breakup is screwing up friendships left and right, and he wishes he could fix it, but… well. He and Anna want different things, and there's no way to reconcile. God knows they tried.

"So are you coming?" Lisa prompts.

It doesn't sound like a good idea. Hell, Dean skipped out on dinner that Cas had probably planned for him—no, not probably, definitely. Steaks marinating in the fridge doesn't exactly sound spontaneous. If he bailed on Cas, there's no reason he should be taking up Lisa's offer.

Except that there was a hint of promise in the way she asked, and fuck, this isn't gonna end well. "Oh what the hell, why not," Dean says.

"Great."

* * *

Dean's always engaged in harmless flirting with Lisa, ever since they first met, if he remembers correctly. Even when he was dating Anna, this didn't change. Lisa's beautiful, and Dean knows he's attractive, and it just worked for them.

So maybe… _maybe_ he should have seen this coming.

And well, maybe he should have done something to stop it. But he's not a saint, and last night Lisa was there, and Ben was already tucked in and sound asleep, and Dean was drunk and hurt—hell, right now he's just about the same, except he's just hungover instead of drunk—and it's not like he's had the best track record with wise decision-making anyway.

In any case, last night was really freakin' amazing, and this could just be the alcohol making his memory fuzzy, but he's pretty damn sure that he remembers enough to know that it was the best sex he'd had in a long time. He hadn't even realized just how mind-numbingly _routine_ sex had gotten between himself and Anna before last night, so as much as he thinks he probably shouldn't have let things get that far, he really can't bring himself to regret it.

Now, he's puttering around the kitchen, making breakfast as sort of a thank you to Lisa. He doesn't know what last night was supposed to mean, given that they were both more than a little drunk, but he does know that he feels better overall, feels more like himself, right now.

Dean's just finished dividing up the scrambled eggs and bacon between two plates and is reaching for the toast when he hears the front door opening.

Shit, _Anna._

Just as Dean thinks her name, Anna speaks up from the entrance to the kitchen. "Dean? What are you doing here?"

His instant reaction is to freeze up, guilt suddenly clawing at his insides. "Um."

But before he has time to come up with some sort of a valid excuse, Anna's saying, "Oh my god. Oh, my god." He turns around and sees that she has a hand covering her mouth, eyes wide. "You… you have _got_ to be kidding me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You slept with Lisa, didn't you?"

After so much time spent fighting with Anna, he's conditioned to get angry and snap right back at her whenever she raises her voice, so his response is, "Yeah, maybe I did. So?"

There's anger in Anna's expression, fury in her eyes, but Dean isn't blind to the shock and hurt and betrayal that are also there. That wave of guilt crashes back down again, and Dean nearly buckles under the force of it. But fuck if he isn't gonna do his best to hide it.

"Wow," Anna says after a moment. "I can't believe you would do this to me."

Dean stares at her. When she doesn't speak up, he asks, "What do you want me to say?"

"God, I don't know. I don't think anything you say could make this better."

And that rubs Dean the wrong way because sure, he feels guilty, but they're not even _together_ anymore. He didn't even do anything wrong. "Anna, what the hell? You're acting like I cheated on you."

"Because you did!"

"We're already broken up! How can I be cheating if we're not even together anymore?"

"Oh, and you expect me to believe that last night was your first night with her?"

"It was!" Dean says indignantly.

"Oh, you're finally back," Dean hears in Lisa's voice, cutting off Anna's response. "What do you want?"

Anna turns to the side, and Dean steps closer to the exit. Anna shifts away from him on instinct, as though she can't stand to have him near her, and it rankles. "I want you to tell me what exactly you think you're doing," she says to Lisa. "Dean and I practically _just_ broke up, and now you're sleeping with him?"

"Hey, we're not doing anything wrong," Dean says.

"Right. Sure," Anna says, but she's still turned away from Dean to face Lisa. "Well, I guess now I know why you've been on his side this whole time."

"Oh, for god's sake, please tell me you're joking," Lisa says. "I can't believe you'd think that!"

"What am I _supposed_ to think, then?"

"I don't know, but definitely not that. I would never hurt you like that."

Anna heaves a sigh, and while she probably means it to come out frustrated, Dean knows her well enough by now to hear that it's pained, too. "Forget it. I'm going."

Dean steps out of the kitchen and watches Anna head for the front door. He considers stopping her but thinks better of it—there's nothing he can say to her, and honestly, he wasn't all in the wrong, anyway. It's not as though he was sleeping with Lisa while he and Anna were still together.

"Dean… I know you didn't want us asking this, but… you're okay, right?" Lisa asks from behind him.

Dean turns to see her standing a few yards away, watching him hesitantly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "I uh, I made you breakfast."

Lisa steps over, glances into the kitchen. "Thanks. You're not… staying?"

Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh, and answers, "No. I—"

"I'm sorry if what happened last night is making you uncomfortable," Lisa interrupts. "It doesn't have to mean anything—doesn't have to change anything." She fixes her eyes on Dean's, uncharacteristically uncertain, and he lets his gaze drop.

"I don't know, Lise. I… I'll talk to you later. I need some air." And that's probably the lamest thing Dean's ever said, but he just feels like he needs to get out of the apartment. "Ben can have my portion," he adds as he starts toward the door.

"Thanks, Dean. Take care o' yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean says, turning to grin at her. He steps into his shoes and leaves the apartment.

As he heads down the stairs, he can't help but think back to the look on Anna's face. She'd definitely looked betrayed, and fuck, he _hates_ the thought that she's holding this against him. Maybe it wasn't the smartest call on his part, but hell, it's _over_ between them. God, Dean hates emotions—they're so messy and way too fucking _difficult_.

When he slides into the front seat of his baby, he glances over and sees the apple pie still sitting on the passenger seat—he hadn't brought it up to Lisa's last night because he hadn't thought he'd be spending the night. Dean slumps forward, lets his forehead hit the steering wheel with a thunk.

_Cas_.

He's sure that he and Cas will be fine, but… well, it's just that he and Cas hardly ever fight, and this time it was just Dean being all sorts of _stupid_, and he should probably go over and apologize, but he just doesn't _want_ to.

Maybe later.

* * *

Castiel's in the middle of a breakfast of homemade pancakes topped with blueberries and syrup, along with a mug of steaming hot English Breakfast tea, when there's a knock on the door. He frowns because he isn't expecting anyone but gets to his feet and goes over to answer it.

"I really need to talk to you," Anna says as soon as the door opens, and she's pushing past him and into the apartment before Castiel can react.

"Yes, sorry about last night," Castiel says, shutting the door and locking it again. "I meant to call, but I—"

"Cas, I don't care about the birthday thing. That's fine," Anna answers, and Castiel's surprised to see that Anna's already made it all the way to his couch and collapsed onto it. He follows her over and sits down beside her, waiting expectantly. It doesn't take long. "Dean and Lisa slept together."

Castiel blinks once, and at first he thinks he heard wrong. He blinks again and is aware that he might be staring a bit. What?

"I don't want to repeat it," Anna says.

"Wow," Castiel finally manages. "I hadn't thought… I'm surprised."

"Yeah," Anna scoffs. "That's _one_ emotion I'm feeling."

"I didn't think Lisa would—it's hardly been a week," Castiel says, frowning.

"I can't help but think that she… that she'd been planning this all along, or something. I know it's an awful thing to think of a friend, but… I just can't stop," Anna confesses.

"It's all right, Anna. It's hard not to think that, to be honest," Castiel replies—he'd be lying if he claimed that that wasn't one of the first things to pop into his head upon hearing the news.

"I thought for sure you'd get on my case for thinking that," Anna says, eyebrows raised.

Castiel understands that she's talking about the qualms Anna had about Lisa's pregnancy a few years back. "This is different," he answers.

Anna's gaze shifts away from him and she stares at nothing for a long moment before saying, in a voice that breaks a little, "Cas, I just… I don't understand. Why would they do that?"

"Dean's a tactile person. It makes sense that he would seek physical comfort," Castiel reasons.

"And Lisa?" Anna prompts, still not looking at Castiel.

"I don't know. But Dean and Lisa share a more casual attitude toward sex than you do. Lisa could have been offering comfort," Castiel tries.

"That's such bullshit."

"I'm just trying to be logical," Castiel says.

"Well can you stop being logical and just be my friend?" Anna asks plaintively, and when she meets Castiel's eyes, he sees that she's on the verge of tears.

"I… I'm not sure what you mean," he says, twisting his torso toward her. "But I am… here for you, as they say."

Anna's lips press together, trembling slightly, and then she's slumping forward, head resting on Castiel's chest. He brings his arms up and wraps them around his friend, pulling her closer as her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs. Her hands come up to fist his sweater, and he just squeezes her tighter, unsure how else he can reassure her. Castiel's seen Anna shed angry tears before, but he's never seen weakness like this, never seen her let go of the rigidity that seems to pervade her very being.

It breaks his heart to see her in this much pain. It hurts to know that she's hurting, and that there's nothing he can to do stop it. So he holds her close and rubs her back until the tears subside, and she's just breathing deeply into the cloth of his sweater.

In the bedroom, his phone goes off. He doesn't move.

"You gonna get that?" Anna asks in a soft voice.

"No."

"It's okay," she says. "You're allowed to answer your phone, Cas."

"If it's important, they'll call again later."

Anna releases his sweater, and Castiel lets his arms fall away so that she can back away from him. She looks up and gives him a watery smile. "Thanks, Cas."

He returns the smile. "You're welcome."

"No, I mean it. I… I know I've given you some crap about staying out of our fights, but the truth is… I don't know what I'd do without you here. And I'm so thankful for how much you value our friendship."

"I'm sure you'd be fine without me," Castiel says gently.

After a pause, Anna looks down at the coffee table, which still holds the remnants of Castiel's pancakes. "Sorry for interrupting your breakfast," she says.

"It is fine, I assure you. Would you like some pancakes? I could—"

"No, that's okay. I'm not hungry," Anna says.

"Tea, then?"

"No, I'm fine," Anna answers. Castiel nods and watches Anna expectantly, because she has that look on her face that means she's ready to ask a question. "Cas… be honest," is what she decides to start with.

"I'm always honest."

"Did I push too far? Was this… was this all my fault?"

"Anna—"

"I mean, should I have settled? Should I have been happy with what we already had?"

"Anna, listen to me," Castiel says patiently—this isn't the first time Anna's had doubts like these over the months that she and Dean have been fighting, and Castiel's reassured her more than once, so he already has some idea of what to say. "I want you to answer some questions. First, did you really want to marry Dean?"

"Yes, of course I did. I… I still do."

"When would you have wanted that to happen?"

"I don't know, two or three years from now?"

"And if that time came and you two still weren't married, weren't even engaged, would you be happy?"

"No."

"So this would become a problem again."

"Yes, but… maybe this was just too early for him. Maybe he'd change his mind," Anna says.

"But it's unlikely," Castiel says—there's no point in lying. "He made his opinion on marriage pretty clear."

After a pause, Anna shakes her head. "God, Cas, I'm so sorry for putting you through this all the time," she says. "I just… I miss being with him. I miss yelling at him, and cooking for him, and watching movies with him, and… it's only been a week since we officially broke up, but we haven't been _happy_ together for months, and I just… I miss it so much. I don't know how I'm ever going to get over him."

"Put some distance between him and yourself. I'd offer to let you stay here, but—"

"Dean has a spare key. I know," Anna says as Castiel's phone starts ringing again. "You should get that."

"I'll only be a minute," Castiel says, getting to his feet. He enters the bedroom and grabs his phone from the nightstand. "Lisa, now's really not a good time."

A brief pause. Then Lisa says, "Let me guess. Anna's there."

"She is. I'll call you back tonight, all right?"

"Ugh, don't bother. Just forget I called."

"Wait—"

"Forget it. Bye, Cas."

Lisa hangs up before Castiel can say anything else, so he walks back out into the living room, phone still in hand.

"Lisa?" Anna says.

"Yes," Castiel answers, putting his phone down on the coffee table. "You two are difficult to mollify over the phone."

"I'm sure," Anna says with a small smile.

Castiel takes a sip from his tea and finds that it's cold now. He puts the mug back down. "We should go out for lunch today," he suggests. "I was about to offer you some steak, but…" he trails off into a chuckle because somehow he'd almost forgotten that Anna was a vegetarian, and Anna laughs with him.

"Why would you even think of that?" she asks.

"I happen to have three steaks in the fridge."

Anna sobers up, a small frown settling over her features. "Was that for yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Of course," Anna says, sighing. "It was 'cause I called, wasn't it? God, Dean is such a dick."

"It's fine. You haven't exactly been an angel yourself, lately," Castiel points out.

Anna smiles ruefully. "Okay, lunch. What do you wanna do 'til then?"

"Whatever you want. I have time," Castiel answers, and it's blissfully true.

It's still the beginning of the semester, and as such, he doesn't have much work to do outside of going to his own classes, holding office hours, and attending lectures to ensure that he's on the same page as the professors for whom he is TA-ing. He's currently enrolled as a graduate student, working toward a Ph.D. in Anthropology with emphasis in cultural anthropology. He may have enjoyed math enough to major in it as an undergraduate, but he's sure he doesn't need or want to know any more on the subject.

Before Anna can answer, the door to Castiel's apartment swings open. "Cas, man, there's something—" Dean starts, and Castiel turns to look just in time to see him freeze, a hand still on the door, in the process of pushing it shut. "Oh, Anna. Um."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says.

"Dean," Anna acknowledges.

Castiel opens his mouth but pauses, uncertain. Is he supposed to turn one of them away now? They certainly don't seem pleased to be sharing the same space.

"I was just gonna ask if you wanted to share the pie," Dean says, holding up the tin that Castiel gave him last night.

"No, thank you," Castiel answers. "I've had enough pie to last me a lifetime." Castiel doesn't like wasting food, after all, and _someone_ had had to finish off the unsuccessful pies that he'd baked in preparation for Dean's birthday.

"Dude, that's not possible," Dean says. Castiel only shrugs in reply. "Suit yourself. I'll just head out, then. See you later, Cas."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Dean exits the room hastily. Castiel sits with Anna in the uncomfortable silence left behind and wonders when this will all finally blow over.


	22. The Bridesmaid

**A/N:** Lisa and Matt are getting married. Lisa's choice for her maid of honor is… unconventional. Warning for crossdressing.

**XXII. The Bridesmaid**

They're at Castiel's apartment when Lisa drops the bomb.

"I want you to be my maid of honor."

Castiel doesn't respond, because surely, even though Lisa was looking straight at him, she was talking to Anna. Surely, she wouldn't be asking _him_ to be her—

"Cas, hey. You still in there somewhere?" Lisa says.

"Yes, of course. You weren't… talking to me?" he says.

Lisa shakes her head. "No, I was talking to the couch cushion on your left. Of course I was talking to you, dummy."

Castiel glances at Anna. "But—"

"Anna lives too far away to help me plan my wedding," Lisa says. "And besides, I like you better anyway. No offense, Anna."

"Oh, don't worry, none taken," Anna answers. "I want to see Cas in a bridesmaid's dress."

Lisa smiles as she turns back to look at Castiel. "So, what do you say?"

"I'll do it."

The girls exchange looks, and Castiel thinks he reads surprise in their expressions. Then Lisa confirms it by saying, "Wow, really?"

Castiel nods. "It's not as though this would be a hardship for me."

"Oh my gosh, I thought you'd protest," Lisa says. "I totally had a list of reasons prepared to convince you to do it if you said no."

"I'm not opposed to trying new things," Castiel says. "You're important to me, and I wouldn't want to let you down by forcing you to settle for Anna."

"Oh my _god_, one of these days I'm going to get sick of this abuse and stop coming to see you," Anna says.

"You wouldn't," Castiel says.

"You love us too much," Lisa adds, smiling sweetly. "Now, where should we start?"

"Well, there are quite a few things to be covered. Have you and Matt decided on the distribution of tasks yet?" Castiel asks.

"Hmm, nope," Lisa says. "But he says that I can do whatever I want—it's up to me. And you know what, that's how it should be, because I'm paying for this wedding."

"No, your father is paying for the wedding," Anna points out.

Lisa rolls her eyes. "Yeah, same thing. Oh! There _is_ one thing that isn't up to me. Instead of a wedding cake, we'll be having pie."

Castiel nods. "That makes sense. But couldn't Jody just bake a wedding cake instead of her customary pies? I've sampled the cake from her bakery before, and it was very good as well."

"Yeah, but she's prouder of her pies," Lisa says.

"Oh my god, this is going to be fun. Can Cas and I pick the style for the bridesmaids' dresses, since we're gonna be the ones wearing them?"

Lisa shakes her head. "I'll take your opinions into consideration, but I'm still deciding on what theme I wanna do for the wedding."

"Oh, no," Anna says. "Please, please, _please_ tell me you've already ditched the Vegas idea."

"Nope, that's still in the realm of possibilities."

Castiel frowns—he hasn't heard them discuss this before. "What is the 'Vegas idea'?" he asks.

Lisa smiles the smile that Dean has termed her "evil grin," which means only bad news can follow. "Oh, I just thought it'd be fun to make it like a Vegas wedding, and I was gonna make you guys dress up like strippers."

Castiel raises an eyebrow at this.

"Oh come on, I promise I'd dress you like a high class kind of stripper, not the two-dollar-whore thing," Lisa says.

"It's not happening," Anna says firmly.

Castiel smirks—he knows that Anna will make sure this doesn't happen, which gives him the opportunity to have a little fun. "Well hey, if I'm already trying something new, might as well go all the way."

Lisa's grinning. "I like the way you think."

"_No_," Anna says, shaking her head. "My parents already think you're a terrible influence on me. I don't need them seeing wedding photos featuring me in some kinky getup."

"Party pooper," Lisa says, but she's still smiling. "Okay, okay, so that wasn't ever _really_ gonna happen. Besides, Matt's best friends could never pull off the Chippendale look anyway."

They all stare at each other for a moment, and the mental image of Josh and Christopher attempting a Chippendale's act is enough to make them all laugh.

"But seriously, we should decide on a theme for the wedding," Castiel says when they've stopped alternately cackling and cringing at their friends' expense.

"Hey, since Anna's in town, why don't we go dress shopping today?"

"I have work tomorrow," Anna says.

"Well, so do we," Lisa answers.

"Yeah, but you don't have to drive—"

"Honey, we're going shopping. Cas, you're free, right?"

Castiel nods. "As long as I'm back home before ten."

"Aw, do you have plans with Dean?" Lisa asks teasingly. "Would you mind if Anna and I came over too? We could all hang out and eat popcorn and watch movies."

"Movies? No. I'm going to fuck his brains out. If you wanted to watch that…"

"Is that an invitation?" Lisa asks, leering, like this is something she's pictured before.

The only reason why Castiel isn't completely terrified is because he knows that Anna will keep Lisa from _actually_ showing up. So he shrugs one shoulder and says, "Well, you know how Dean is with those hidden kinks. You never know what's gonna push his buttons."

"All right, all right, I'll go shopping. Let's not do this anymore," Anna says, effectively cutting off Lisa's response.

* * *

It's absurd. Guys shouldn't wear dresses. Dresses were made for ladies, and that's the end of it. Guys have no business getting into all that flow-y, frilly stuff. It's ridiculous that there are some dudes out there who dress up like girls. To each his own, but… there's just something weird about it.

That's Dean's position on the subject of cross-dressing.

At least, that's his position, until he sees Cas wandering out of the dressing room and heading back toward the main chamber of the chapel, where the ceremony will be taking place an hour from now.

Cas is wearing a dark blue—same shade as his eyes, Dean notes absently—gown, nearly floor-length, with a slit on the right side that goes up to mid-thigh. There's only one strap, going over his left shoulder, leaving his right shoulder completely bare. Dean's too far away to see the details of Cas's face clearly, but he remembers Anna saying something about how Cas was the perfect person to do makeup on, because he hardly needed any touching up. And fuck, he wants to see what Cas could possibly have needed.

As Cas heads into the room, not noticing Dean out here in the entrance area because there are just so many people milling around, Dean catches sight of a bow—a huge, silky-looking, fucking _ribbon_, tied in a bow around Cas's waist like he's a _present_ for Dean to unwrap, _Jesus_—and that's too much.

"Hey—Cas!" he calls out, and Cas pauses just inside the other room, turning around to look for him. He makes his way through the crowd—half Lisa's friends, half Matt's, and Dean really doesn't know that many of them so it's easy for him to slip by—until he reaches Cas. But he doesn't stop, just grabs Cas's arm and drags him back toward the dressing rooms.

They enter the first vacant room, and Dean frowns. Okay, so they're not actually dressing rooms, they're offices being used as makeshift dressing rooms. He officially feels weird. But this is only distracting for the few seconds it takes Dean to turn around and catch sight of Cas, still in that ridiculous dress, and he knows he's staring, but he just _can't stop_.

"I take it you approve," Cas says.

"Approve?" Dean answers, his mouth maybe a bit detached from his brain because—_Jesus_, he just can't function properly right now. "God, yes."

Cas huffs out a short laugh at this, and Dean finally tears his eyes away from the dress to look at Cas's face. There _is_ a bit of makeup. Mascara makes Cas's eyelashes look even longer than usual. Lightly applied eye shadow accentuates the blues of his eyes. His cheeks look pinker than usual, but Dean can't tell if that's from blushing or from actual blush. And god, he's wearing _lipstick_.

"I'm guessing this won't be the last time I wear this," Cas says, and yes, Cas is a _genius_.

"Dude, no. Definitely not the last time. You should always be wearing dresses. You should never not be wearing dresses, unless we're having sex." Okay, Dean's brain-to-mouth filter must still be on vacation.

And Cas laughs and laughs until Dean lunges forward and shoves his tongue down Cas's throat to shut him up. He presses Cas against the closed door, and Christ, the fabric is so soft under his fingers, warmed with Cas's body heat. Cas groans, clutching at Dean's suited shoulders.

"God, Cas," Dean hisses when he pulls back, unable to stop his hands from roaming over Cas's body, reveling in the smooth glide of the material as his fingers pass over it.

"Stop—stop, Dean," Cas manages, pushing Dean back a little. His voice is hoarse. "Fucking—I can't wear a dress when I'm erect, Dean."

"Let me fix that, then," Dean answers, dropping to his knees, and he will never get sick of that little hitch in Cas's breath when he does this, like Cas is still surprised that Dean would want to suck him off.

He runs his hands up Cas's legs—and holy shit, he fucking _shaved_ for this—bunching the material up as he goes, and then his eyes slide down to Cas's feet, and he freezes.

Cas is wearing _stilettos_, for fuck's sake.

"C—Cas," he chokes out, and when he finally looks up, Cas's eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown.

"Dean," Cas murmurs, hand reaching down to caress Dean's cheek, "we should probably leave this for after the ceremony."

"But—"

"We can take care of ourselves for now. You should… stop. Before um, before."

Dean blinks, mouth suddenly dry. "Before…?" he asks, but his brain's already skipping ahead of him, anticipating Cas's next little surprise. His hands continue their path up Cas's legs, and Cas doesn't stop him. And then his fingers encounter it—_lace_.

"Dean…" Cas is saying, but Dean's beyond stopping at this point, lifts up the fabric, takes advantage of the slit in the side and pushes it out of his way. Cas takes the bunched-up cloth, holds it to the side to give Dean unhindered access, which—

"_Jesus_," Dean breathes, because he never thought—just, _shit_. Cas is wearing light blue, satiny panties edged with lace. The fabric is stretched taut, hiding next to nothing, and Cas is hard, really hard, the head of his dick peeking out over the top edge of the panties, and Dean can't stop, can't help it. He leans forward, mouths at the outline of Cas's cock through the flimsy fabric, feels Cas jerk at the contact, hears him let out a low moan.

Then someone bangs on the door, startling them both. "Yo, Dean! You'd better not be banging my maid of honor in there!"

It's Lisa. "Get the hell outta here!" Dean growls, just loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. Lisa's gotta know—Lisa fucking _knows_ what this is doing to him, and she's cockblocking now because she's an _evil bitch_—

"No seriously, I need him," Lisa's saying, and Cas groans and bangs his head back against the door. Dean's just glad he's not the only one frustrated here.

"Five minutes," Cas says, eyes fixed on Dean's mouth, and yeah, Dean can get with that. Five minutes isn't enough, not even fucking _near_ enough, but he'll have Cas all to himself after this wedding is over. He'll take what he can get for now.

"Fine," Lisa says with a theatrical, put-upon sigh.

Dean doesn't bother listening for her footsteps to make sure she's left—no time for that. He reaches up and tugs the material down, enough to bare Cas's dick to him. He pauses for a second, staring at the way the fabric is caught under Cas's balls, wonders what it would feel like to be the one wearing the panties.

But then Cas makes an impatient sound, and Dean leans forward, takes him into his mouth, and Cas's disgruntled protest turns into a moan. They don't have much time, so Dean doesn't bother teasing, going straight through all the things Cas likes—tonguing at the frenulum, a quick slide as far as down Dean can go, the slightest hint of teeth on the drag up.

"Fu—_Dean_—" Cas groans, all gravel and need, and Dean can't deny him anything when he's using that voice.

Dean bobs his head faster, letting the head of Cas's dick hit the back of his throat with each slide. His hand covers what he can't take into his mouth—he never did get the hang of deep-throating, and now's really not a good time to try to learn—using saliva to slick the way.

His hand moves lower, fondles Cas's balls to a chorus of helpless cries, and then slips into the panties, finding Cas's hole and pressing lightly. Cas is dry, whines when Dean pushes a bit harder, and Dean pauses with his lips fastened tight around Cas's shaft, sucking hard.

"Dean—_Dean—_oh god, your _mouth_—" Cas trails off into nonsensical babbles, and Dean loves being able to just _ruin_ him, steal his words and his thoughts and occupy all of his attention.

Dean opens his eyes, sees Cas's hands tense but not fisted, just holding the fabric of his dress up and out of the way, and god, leave it to Cas to be cognizant enough to worry about wrinkling his getup even when he's so far gone. Dean flicks his eyes up and sees the bottom of Cas's jaw, the long, pale expanse of his neck that runs into his shoulder so, so tempting. Dean's jaw is aching, but it's worth it to see the way Cas's throat works around sounds that don't mean anything, the way Cas's hands twitch like he's aching to run his fingers through Dean's hair like he normally does.

And then, as though he can sense Dean's eyes on him, Cas tilts his head down, lust-dark eyes open wide. _Come on, Cas_, Dean thinks, knows that Cas is so goddamn close. _Come for me, babe_, he urges with his eyes. Dean presses a tiny bit harder with his index finger, feels Cas's pucker start to give, and Cas shudders, comes in hot spurts down Dean's throat.

Dean stays where he is, swallowing the come as it fills his mouth. When he's soft, Dean rocks back onto his heels, letting Cas slide from his mouth, and fixes the panties. His own arousal rises to the forefront of his attention, and he presses the heel of his hand against his crotch, lets out a groan.

"Oh, holy…" Cas says, voice breaking a little. He's slumped against the wall, recovering.

Dean grins. "Yeah right, that was holy."

Cas shakes his head. "That's a terrible joke," he says, but his lips are turned up in a smile anyway.

Then there are three bangs on the door, followed by Anna's voice—"Are you two done in there yet?"

"Just about," Cas answers, much less breathy now. He lets the dress fall back down, hiding his legs from sight, and Dean can't help but feel disappointed. Cas pulls Dean back to his feet and presses a kiss to his lips, cards his hand through Dean's hair.

Dean crowds forward, pressing Cas into the door, and Cas breaks the kiss.

"Sorry—after the reception—" Cas starts, but Dean just kisses him again, interrupting him.

"Yeah, yeah, later," Dean murmurs when they break apart again. "It's finals next week at the university, right?" Cas nods, and Dean grins—this means Cas is pretty much free of work. He just has two exams to proctor next week, and then he's free for the summer. "I hope you know you won't be leaving the bed all weekend, if I have my way."

Cas gives Dean one of his small smiles, the ones that mostly show in his eyes, and Dean loses his breath, because now he knows that this, this is the way Cas said 'I love you' for however-long it took Dean to get his head outta his ass. And damn it, Cas should always be smiling like this, for Dean. Always and only for Dean.

"Until tonight, then," Cas says, and then he's pushing Dean back so that he can leave.

Anna's standing just outside the door, wearing a dress that matches Cas's. She smirks when her eyes meet Dean's. "Bathroom's down the hall, that way," she says, pointing to her left.

Dean tries to think about retorting, but all that he really wants right now is to get off so that he won't have boner all through the ceremony. He watches as Anna drags Cas off, and then he heads down the hallway in the direction Anna indicated, thankful that it's empty.

Tonight can't come too soon.


	23. The Tradition: Year 6

**A/N:** Cas doesn't make it to the movies this year. Dean doesn't like it.

**XXIII. The Tradition: Year 6**

"If they don't get here soon, they're gonna miss the movie," Jess says.

"Yeah, I shoulda known to pick them up on the way over," Dean says. His shift ended about ten minutes ago, and he headed here straight after, only to find Jess waiting alone—Sam's apparently inside, saving seats, but Lisa and Cas haven't gotten here yet.

Then Lisa's walking over, but she's alone.

"Hey," Dean says when she's near enough to hear him. He leans in for a kiss. "Dude, where's Cas?" he asks, pulling away.

"He can't make it tonight," Lisa says.

"He what? Why not?"

"Some professor is really, really sick, so she asked Cas to lecture in her place tomorrow morning. I tried to talk him into coming anyway, but…" Lisa shakes her head. "Anyway, that's why I'm late."

"Speaking of late, we should head inside," Jess says, turning toward the doors.

"Is Sam saving seats?" Lisa asks as they enter the building.

"Yep!" Jess answers.

"Great."

Dean can't help but feel really bummed for Cas. He knows that Sam gave Cas a giant book containing a shit-ton of Sherlock Holmes short stories—and novels, maybe? Dean isn't sure—and that Cas really, really liked it, so it's a shame that he's gotta miss the movie. It was released almost a month ago, but when they'd gone to the movies last month, Dean and Lisa had wanted to see _Avatar_ instead, and Cas had been fine with it.

That's okay, though. He's sure Cas will be able to watch it at some point.

Yet there's still this uncomfortable feeling in his chest, and he doesn't like or understand it.

"_Dean_," Lisa says sharply, and Dean sees that she's frowning at him. They're already in the wide hallway that holds the entrances to all the theaters. "What's wrong?"

"Long day at work," Dean supplies, because he can't really figure out why he feels all funky, and he doesn't like discussing his feelings, anyway.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lisa says as they follow Jess into the theater. "I still don't understand why you didn't just take the day off. It's fine to work on Sundays, but today's your birthday. It's not as though Bobby wouldn't let you skip."

Dean shrugs. "What can I say? I like my job."

And it's true. He's always loved tinkering with cars, and sure, maybe he's a bit overqualified for his job—Professor Ferris said that he was one of her favorite students, and that he could totally go work as an engineer for NASA, or something more glamorous than working as a mechanic in an auto repair shop—but Dean likes it here in Lawrence, and he can't see himself going anywhere else for an extended length of time.

Meanwhile, Lisa just shrugs and says, "Whatever floats your boat."

Then they're climbing up the steps to where Sam's sitting, and Dean notes that the theater's barely half-full, which is awesome because that means he gets to put his feet up. This is why he likes going to movies after they've been out for a while.

Dean sits down and reaches past Jess to smack Sam's arm. "Sammy," he says, grinning.

Sam huffs, amused. "Happy birthday, Dean." Then he asks, "Where's Cas?"

"Apparently a professor got sick, and he's filling in," Jess explains.

"Oh," Sam says, frowning. "Was it Professor Masters?"

Dean shrugs and looks at Lisa, whose forehead is scrunched up in thought.

"Y'know, I think it might have been," she answers.

"Oh, wow," Sam says. "She teaches this one class pretty exclusively—Ethics Concerning Ancient Artifacts. I'm taking it next semester."

"No kidding," Dean says, surprised. "So Cas might be your TA, huh?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "It's not all that shocking, is it? I'm taking a ton of classes that he took when he was an undergrad, and given the choice, of course he'd TA for classes that he's taken before, so—"

"Oh shut up, smartass."

Sam laughs but doesn't continue, so Dean counts that as a win. Jess asks Sam something quietly, and Dean's about to make a remark about how they can have their private chitchats when they're _in private_ when Lisa taps his arm, stealing his attention.

"Are you coming over after dinner tonight?" she asks.

Dean's about to say yes, but that uncomfortable feeling from before flares up, and he thinks that now he sort of recognizes what it is. "No," he answers.

"Oh," Lisa says, frowning. "Why not?"

"I uh, I'm pretty tired. I think I'd rather just go home and knock out," Dean answers.

"Do my ears deceive me, or is my brother actually turning down sex?" Sam asks, butting into the conversation, and Dean swivels around to shoot a glare at him. Sam looks way too smug.

"Aren't you two supposed to be making lovey-dovey small talk?" Dean says.

"It's not as though you two were lowering your voices. It would've been hard for us _not_ to overhear," Jess says. Then she adds, "And besides, I save all my lovey-dovey small talk for the bedroom."

Sam's face turns red enough that it's noticeable even in the dim lighting, and Dean joins Lisa and Jess in laughing at him. And then Sam's reaching over to smack Dean.

"Cut it out, guys—the previews are starting," he hisses.

Dean's about ready to continue the teasing, but the lights get even dimmer, and it seems the previews really are starting. "All right, you're off the hook," Dean mutters in Sam's direction.

The first trailer is for some sort of action flick, and the first thing that pops into Dean's head is Cas's voice, saying something to the effect of, "Oh, another car chase. Because that hasn't been overdone at all." He grins despite himself and decides he's gonna have to drop by Cas's apartment tonight, because hey, it's tradition.

* * *

It's about ten thirty, and Castiel finished his lecture notes about twenty minutes ago, but he's going back through them another time so that he'll have everything down. Professor Masters has her lectures recorded and archived, and if he gives a subpar lecture, there's a good chance that she won't want to hire him back next semester.

And even if this wasn't necessarily his favorite course to take, he really enjoyed TA-ing for it in the fall, because there are only three papers total, and since Masters likes to grade the final paper on her own, Castiel only has to grade two sets of papers.

He's skimming through his notes for a third time when he hears his front door being unlocked from the outside. There's a chance that it could be Dean, except that there isn't, because Dean's surely at Lisa's by now. Castiel swiftly and silently gets to his feet and rushes to the door, snatching up his broom—because since he started baking, he's learned that he needs a broom to curtail the resulting devastation in his kitchen—on the way over.

The door opens wide, and Castiel _swings_—

"Holy fuck!" Dean yelps, and it's too late for Castiel to stop his momentum, but Dean leaps backward, and thankfully the broom strikes his upper arm instead of his head.

Castiel freezes, eyes wide, hands still tight on the broom handle.

"What the _hell_, Cas!" Dean grouses, rubbing his arm.

"Dean."

"Yeah. _Dean_," Dean says, mimicking the way that Castiel says his name. "_Give_ that to me," he adds, and Castiel surrenders the broom when Dean grabs the end closer to him and gives a mighty tug.

"I didn't think it would be you."

"Dude, who else has a key to your apartment?"

"I thought someone was picking the lock," Castiel says—very reasonably, he thinks. Dean just raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Castiel asks.

"Oh, I don't know," Dean says evasively. When Castiel frowns at him, Dean gives in. "It felt wrong, not seeing you all day. I mean, it's been a tradition for us to spend our birthdays together, right?" That much is true, so Castiel nods. "Okay, great. So you gonna let me in, or what?"

"Very well, Dean." He backs up to let his friend inside and closes the door behind him.

"You're done with your lesson plan, right?" Dean asks as he toes his shoes off and heads farther into the apartment. The broom is deposited in its usual corner.

"Yes," Castiel answers.

"Great, 'cause we're watching a movie."

"Dean, I don't think—"

"Not at the movies," Dean interrupts. "Here—I brought the movie." He brandishes a DVD at Castiel, who hadn't even noticed it because of his broom mishap. "You got any beer?"

"Of course."

Castiel heads over to the kitchen. He doesn't even like beer all that much, but Dean comes over often enough that he always stays well-stocked. Tugging the fridge open, Castiel pulls out three bottles and returns to the living room in time to see Dean lounging on the couch with the remote control. The television is already on the title menu of a DVD, and Castiel identifies the movie as _Underworld: Rise of the Lycans _as he places the beers down on the coffee table.

"You _must_ be joking," he says, giving Dean an unimpressed look.

Dean ignores his statement. "Dude, only three beers? Aren't you—"

"I have a class to teach tomorrow morning. I'm not going in with a hangover."

"All right, fine," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "And no, I'm not joking. You skipped out on my birthday movie this year, so this is your punishment."

Castiel shakes his head. "As if being your friend isn't punishment enough," he says, settling down beside Dean with a dramatic sigh. Dean only chuckles and hands him an opened beer before opening another for himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man," Dean says as the Screen Gems symbol flashes on the screen, quickly followed by Lakeshore Entertainment. "I'm a joy to be around."

"Of course. That's exactly what you are."

"Okay, shut up and watch."

Castiel takes a sip from his beer and listens to Kate Beckinsale's voiceover, setting the story. Viktor shoots a werewolf, and a naked infant lies crying on the ground.

Oh, it's Lucian—right, this is supposed to be a prequel. Perhaps it will be more enjoyable than the previous two films of the series, then.

Then Castiel catches Dean grinning at him. "If you're going to tease me, you might as well get it over with now," he says.

"What? I would never," Dean says. He takes a drink and tilts his head toward the screen in an attempt to get Castiel's attention back on the movie.

Castiel shakes his head but lets it slide, because between the two of them, he is obviously the better man.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Castiel admits that this movie was much more coherent than the first two.

"See? I _told_ you that you'd like this one better," Dean says, grinning. Castiel's mildly surprised by the complete openness of the expression, and then he remembers that Dean's been drinking—he'd gone to grab another two more bottles for himself while there was a lull in the action.

"You only said that because of Michael Sheen's presence."

"Well sure. You like him, right?"

"I do. But the film overall is also more streamlined and engaging than its predecessors."

"Y'know, sometimes I think I've trained you well enough that you'll actually sound like a normal human being when you open your mouth, but then out comes… well, _that_," Dean finishes, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Very well-phrased," Castiel comments.

"Oh, shut up."

Castiel smiles. "I think it's time for bed. I'm going to take a shower. Are you…"

"Staying," Dean says. "'m not exactly drunk, but I don't wanna risk my baby."

"Of course. Would you like to shower first?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, you go ahead."

"I'll be quick," Castiel says.

Dean just waves a hand dismissively, so Castiel goes into his bedroom, grabs a change of clothes, and enters the bathroom. He showers quickly, mindful that it's just past midnight, and he'll have to be up at seven. He's slept less, but he likes to get eight hours of sleep whenever he can.

When Castiel returns to the living room, Dean's curled up on the couch, asleep, and the television is still on, but the screen is just looping the title menu of the movie, so Castiel takes the DVD out of the player, puts it back in the case, and turns off the screen and DVD player.

"Hmm—Cas?" Dean mutters, cracking an eye open.

"I'm done showering," Castiel says, putting the case down on the coffee table. "Get up."

"Sleepy," Dean answers, shutting his eyes again.

"Up," Castiel insists, and he drags Dean's upper body upward until he's in a sitting position, at which point Dean shrugs him off with an annoyed huff.

"What do you want?"

"Bed. You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch—it's too short for you."

Dean rubs his eyes. "Yeah, okay," he says, getting to his feet slowly. He sways a little, and Castiel reaches out to steady him. "Sleepy and buzzed is a bad combo," he comments.

Castiel chuckles and guides Dean toward the bedroom. "Apparently."

He lets go of Dean long enough to pull back the covers on his bed, and then Dean's climbing in and tugging the covers up over himself. Castiel turns to leave, but a hand on his wrist stops him.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Dean asks.

Castiel frowns. "The couch. I'm not as tall as you. It won't be uncomfortable." Castiel had inherited the couch from their old apartment, and he's certainly fallen asleep there once or twice in the past, and it's long enough that he doesn't feel too cramped. Not the way that Dean would be, at least.

"Dude, I can handle a little manly bed-sharing. Get in."

"Dean…"

"Oh, come on. It's not as though this is the first time. I promise I won't violate you in your sleep, okay princess?"

"Thank you, Dean. That's exactly what I was worried about," Castiel says dryly. When he turns away again, the grip on his wrist tightens, and Castiel frowns down at Dean, whose brow is creased in consternation. "I'm just going to turn off the light."

"Oh," Dean says, blinking, and his face smooths out.

This time, when Castiel walks away, Dean doesn't stop him. Castiel flicks the light switch to the off position and turns back around, lets his eyes adjust to the dark before crossing the room to his bed. He slides under the covers and shivers a little when he's surrounded by the cool sheets. It's January—of course it's cold.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?" Castiel asks, turning to look at his bedmate. Dean is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Missing my birthday is not cool, 'kay?"

Castiel smiles. "If I could have gone today, I would have."

"Well then… if you can't come, I should be hearin' it from you, got it? 'Cause it's tradition, and you're not allowed to just leave me hangin'."

"And you always say that I'm the old-fashioned one," Castiel says, but his smile fades as he belatedly registers what Dean's _actually_ saying—_you're not allowed to just abandon me_.

Dean snorts and closes his eyes. "That's because you are," he says, but the humor in his tone is forced, and Castiel doesn't like it. Alcohol has always been able to loosen Dean's tongue, and Castiel wonders whether or not he would even know how Dean felt about this if Dean didn't have four beers swimming through his system right now.

"Dean…" Castiel shuts his eyes and stops himself from going any farther, because for some reason the next five words that came to mind were _I am not your father_, and he doesn't think that would have gone over well. Mr. Winchester almost didn't come home this winter, and though he usually returns at some point during the summer, according to Dean, he's mentioned possibly being unable to come back then as well. It's a sore spot for both Sam and Dean.

"Mhmm?" Dean hums, and then he's shifting onto his side.

When Dean is still again, Castiel opens his eyes and is startled by Dean's proximity, his large, green eyes only a few inches away. Castiel blinks a few times but doesn't retreat, just looks his fill because he doesn't think he's ever been quite so close to Dean's eyes before, and he doesn't think it'll happen again.

"Dean, I'm not going anywhere," is what he settles on.

Naturally, Dean starts to clam up. "I don't know what you're talking—"

"Please don't," Castiel interrupts. "I'm trying to have a mature conversation with you."

"Well that's not fair. I'm pretty friggin' buzzed, and you expect me to have a mature conversation?"

Castiel smiles, cups Dean's cheek with his left hand because Dean's just inebriated enough that he probably won't care too much about the contact. As expected, Dean doesn't really react to the touch, and Castiel waits until Dean's eyes are on his before saying, "Dean, I just need you to listen, and to accept this. I am not. Going. Anywhere."

Dean blinks once, slowly, and Castiel takes the time to marvel at the delicate curve of his eyelashes, because he apparently likes torturing himself.

Then a warm hand settles over his, cool metal pressing against his index finger, and he watches the way Dean's ring reflects the moonlight entering his bedroom. "Yeah?" Dean murmurs sleepily, his thumb slowly rubbing circles around Castiel's ring, and Castiel feels like he's in first grade again, and Hester Lafayette is telling him to pinky promise her that they'll be friends forever.

Castiel lowers his voice to Dean's volume and answers, "I promise," and there's no pinky linking involved, but he knows that this is a vow that he won't—can't—break. _I will never, ever leave you_, he doesn't tell Dean. _You'll never have to be alone, because I'll be here._

He can't say these things, because no matter how buzzed Dean is, he won't be able to ignore them, and he certainly isn't drunk enough to forget them. So Castiel does the only thing he can do and thinks them as loudly as he can, wondering for one crazy moment if it's possible to think something so hard that someone can lift your thoughts straight out of your face.

"Good," Dean says, giving Castiel's hand a squeeze before closing his eyes and pulling his hand away.

Castiel takes the hint and draws his own hand back, ignoring how cold it feels now. He's already been given far more than he ever thought he would, and he should be satisfied with it. So he smiles, even though Dean can't see it, and says, "Good night, Dean."

"'Night, Cas."


	24. The Seasons, Part 3: Summer

**A/N:** Dean loves it when Cas is on break, because that means Dean gets to monopolize pretty much all of his time.

**XXIV. The Seasons, Part 3: Summer**

Dean runs a knuckle down Cas's cheek, observes the way the sunlight's hitting Cas's face, adding a soft glow to his skin. He looks so relaxed in sleep, and Dean would say that this is the best look for him, except that Cas's eyes aren't visible when he's asleep, and Dean decided a long time ago that those expressive eyes were his favorite part of Cas.

Distantly, he's aware of his own arousal, growing as he tugs the covers off Cas to expose his body, still naked after last night's activities. But it doesn't feel urgent, or pressing. He's been awake for maybe five minutes, and he's perfectly content with just watching Cas sleep like this. He smiles, unable to hold it back, when Cas shifts in his sleep, mumbling incoherently.

It's lazy mornings like this that make Dean wonder whether summer might actually be his favorite time of the year, more so than winter. Because over summer, Cas has a longer break, and Dean loves it when Cas is on break, because that means Dean gets to monopolize pretty much all of his time.

Last summer was great because Dean and Cas were… well, they'd been sleeping together for a while, but last summer was their first summer officially _together_, and it was awesome. But this summer's turning out to be even better, because Dean finally coaxed Cas into getting rid of that crappy one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town and moving in with Dean.

Cas's hand wraps around Dean's, and Dean blinks, realizes that he'd zoned out.

"Hey," Cas says, voice hoarse from sleep.

"Hey," Dean answers, and smiles again.

"How long have you been awake?" Cas asks, yawning and shifting closer so that he can press his forehead to Dean's.

"Not long."

"Hmm," Cas hums, slowly running a hand up and down Dean's chest. "You up for another round?"

Dean smirks. "When am I not?"

Cas pushes Dean onto his back and crawls over him, straddling his abdomen. He stretches his arms above his head, movements easy and unhurried, and Dean admires the bruises that pepper his torso. But when Cas lets his hands fall back down, Dean notices the red marks on his wrists and frowns.

"Cas, you're okay, right?" he asks, brow furrowed.

Cas looks down to see what Dean's talking about. "Of course," he answers.

"I wasn't too rough last night?" Dean presses, quickly flipping back to what he can remember. He'd chosen to use the belt again—maybe it's just because that was what he'd used the first time to tie Cas's hands together, but there's something about it that gets a better reaction outta Cas than ties or ropes.

Then Cas is leaning down, scraping his nails lightly down Dean's torso. His fingers tease at Dean's nipples briefly, and fuck, that gets Dean hard and wanting in no time. Cas's fingers trail back up, coming to a stop at Dean's shoulders. "Not rough enough," he purrs into Dean's ear before taking Dean's earlobe into his mouth and nibbling.

"Fuck—_Cas_—" Dean grits out, thrusting his hips upward and groaning in frustration when Cas is too far up for Dean to get a decent amount of friction.

Cas just keeps tonguing at Dean's ear, because he knows it's a weakness, and fuck—if Cas isn't gonna play fair, Dean won't either. He slides his fingers around to Cas's opening, and one of his favorite things about mornings is that Cas is usually still loose, and it doesn't take much to get him ready. He slips two fingers in—_mm, Dean_, Cas breathes right by his ear—and crooks them, jabbing at Cas's prostate. Cas cries out and goes rigid above him.

Dean only has a moment to feel smug though, because Cas lifts himself up onto his knees, Dean's fingers slipping out as he moves, and then Cas is scooting backward, gripping the base of Dean's cock, and lining himself up.

"Wait, Cas—" Dean starts to protest, but then Cas is sinking down, still slick but almost _too_ tight, and Dean breaks off into a loud groan as Cas takes him in.

But once seated, Cas stays still, tugs at Dean's torso until he sits up. Dean pulls Cas's head down for a kiss, and god, he's never gonna get sick of this, of being as close to Cas as he possibly can. Cas grips Dean's head with both hands, kisses slow and long and forceful. Fuck, he _owns_ Dean's mouth, and it feels _so good_.

Dean lets his hands slide down Cas's back until their resting on the swells of Cas's ass. He tugs Cas closer, rolls his hips upward at the same time, and Cas makes this high-pitched noise in his throat, pulling back slightly so that their lips are barely touching. Dean builds up a rhythm, nice and slow, small rolling motions instead of their normal fucking, and then he grabs one of Cas's wrists, brings it up to his mouth to press kisses to the red marks left over from last night.

"Dean," Cas breathes, "I wanted it."

"I'm sorry anyway," Dean whispers, mouth dragging across Cas's soft skin.

Cas is still for a moment, and Dean lifts his gaze to see that those wide, blue eyes look watery.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Cas suddenly shoves at his chest, and Dean, not expecting the push, falls back onto the bed. "Cas—"

Before he can get any farther, Cas lifts himself up and fucks back down hard, and Dean's thoughts go flying out the window. Cas sets a brutal pace, completely opposite of what they were just doing, and some part of Dean thinks he really should be concerned, but fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, _fuck_, Cas is _not_ _human_.

Cas laughs breathlessly but doesn't slow his pace, and Dean realizes that those last thoughts were actually coming out of his mouth.

Well, if Cas wants hot and dirty, Dean can roll with it.

"C'mon, Cas. That all you got?" he grits out, jabbing his hips upward once, and the extra pressure to Cas's prostate screws up his rhythm momentarily.

"Nnngh, Dean," Cas groans, and he's never been much of a talker during sex, but Dean can make up for that.

Dean gives Cas a slap on the thigh. "Faster."

Cas obeys, bounces up and down on Dean's cock faster and harder, and Dean lets his head drop back for a moment, because holy _fuck_, he's in heaven. When Cas starts to slow his pace, Dean lifts his head again, fixes Cas with a hard stare.

"Don't you slow down, Cas," he says. "Fuck yourself nice and good on my cock—_fuck_, yeah."

He wraps a hand around Cas's dick, smearing precome along the shaft, and Cas throws his head back, keening. So responsive, always so responsive.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean urges, and he's in that place he gets to sometimes where he's got almost no control over the words that are coming out of his mouth. "Harder—wanna come? Wanna paint me up, Cas? I'll look so good covered in your come—" Cas whimpers at the mental image, and Dean grins as he continues, "—oh, yeah. C'mon, Cas, I want you to. Want you to come on my cock."

Cas's thighs are trembling with the effort of maintaining his pace, and Dean takes pity—oh, who is he kidding, he's so fucking close he can hardly even hold back anymore—by planting his feet on the mattress and thrusting up to meet Cas when he drops down again. Dean presses his thumbnail against the slit at the head of Cas's dick at the same time, and this proves to be too much stimulation for Cas, who comes with a cry, shooting all over Dean's torso.

Above him, Cas goes limp, breathing hard, and Dean twists to the side, pinning Cas to the bed under him. Cas responds by putting his arms around Dean's back and bringing his legs up to wrap them around Dean's waist as Dean starts thrusting, just looking for release now.

Cas grunts in rhythm with Dean's thrusts and brings one of his hands upward, uses it to pet the back of Dean's neck, scratching at the soft hairs at his hairline, and that spot was never all that sensitive to Dean, but it sure as hell is sensitive right now, and he groans when Cas's nails scrape over it a little harder. Cas lifts his head and presses kisses to Dean's jaw, cheek, nose, using the hand on Dean's neck to move Dean's head where he wants it.

Dean realizes that he's slowed the motion of his hips, his strokes long and slow and deep, and god, he's so close. Then Cas kisses Dean's lips, surprisingly chaste, and whispers against them, "I love you."

And Dean chokes on a groan, shoves his hips forward one last time and comes and comes and _comes_.

"Oh, fuck," someone says after a few moments, in a voice so hoarse that it takes Dean a second to recognize it as his own.

Cas's hand continues stroking through his hair, and Dean forces his limbs to move so that he's not completely crushing Cas anymore. He ends up lying on his side, right in the middle of a patch of sun—warm and completely comfortable.

Cas hums softly and shifts onto his side, watching as Dean catches his breath. He lifts his left hand, rests it on Dean's cheek the way he did after their first time together as a couple, over a year ago. His thumb brushes along Dean's cheekbone, a feather-soft touch, and Dean opens his eyes to see Cas's small smile. And he wants to smile back, but he finds that he can't, because… because there's something missing.

"Cas…" he murmurs, and his voice shakes, inexplicably.

"Dean," Cas answers, steady. "What's wrong?"

Dean shakes his head, a small motion, because he doesn't know. Cas's brow creases with concern, and Dean lets his gaze shift between Cas's eyes, looking for—

"Oh," he breathes, because he _does_ know. He knows exactly what's wrong with this picture.

"Dean?"

He remembers the look Cas had given him that night, remembers how fond and affectionate it had been, and most of all he remembers that it had been too much for him, so much that he'd had to shy away. But looking at Cas's face now, Dean sees that the emotions are all still there, but the intensity, the _depth_, is gone. And he realizes in this moment that he wants it back, all of it. He wants to see how Cas feels about him, wants it so badly that he aches.

"Dean," Cas says, frowning, and he's starting to lift his hand away, but Dean catches it and presses it back against his cheek, and the gesture is so familiar that he can't hold back a small smile.

"I love you."

Cas blinks, face blank.

"I love you," Dean repeats, because now that it's been said, he doesn't know why he took so long to finally say it.

It seems like the words register with Cas all at once. His face lights up, and his mouth stretches into one of those wide smiles, the nose-crinkling ones that are too fucking adorable. And it hits Dean that he could have been saying this for the whole year that they were together, that he has no freaking excuse good enough for putting it off this long.

"I love you, too," Cas answers, and _there_. There it is, the same expression Cas had shown Dean that night, and it's _perfect_. Dean grins so wide that he must look like a crazy person, but he can't stop, and it doesn't matter because Cas is smiling right back, and Cas… Cas _loves him_.

Dean's known this for a long time now, has known about Cas's emotions, but he's so friggin' stupid that it took him until _now_ to really understand, to actually _get it_.

"I'm so sorry," he says, because he's kept Cas waiting way longer than he deserves.

But Cas is shaking his head, leaning in to peck Dean's lips. "No," he says, voice only just louder than a whisper, "no, don't—"

"'m sorry I kept you—" Cas interrupts Dean with another kiss, but Dean just continues when Cas pulls away, "—waiting so long."

"Don't be sorry," Cas insists.

Dean opens his mouth to repeat his apology, but Cas kisses him again, and this time it's deep—tongues tangling together, teeth clashing—and the only thing Dean has left to say when they break apart is—"I love you." Another kiss. "God, Cas, I—"

"I know," Cas says, soft and pleased.

"I shouldn't have kept you waiting," Dean says. "I should've said it months ago. I've felt like this for so long, and I didn't…" he shakes his head. "I don't think I even _knew_."

"Dean, it's fine," Cas says, and one of the best things about Cas is that Dean knows he wouldn't lie about this. "We're here. Together. And that's all that matters."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Dean concedes.

Cas just keeps smiling, radiant and happy, and Dean vows to himself that he will do his best to put that smile on Cas's face as often as he can, because it might just be one of the best things he's ever seen.

* * *

The first time Dean said those three words, Castiel couldn't believe it. It had to have been a fluke. Maybe he was dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time Castiel had dreamed it up. But Dean repeated it, and it had looked like a revelation to him, and fuck, it was _real_.

Now he pads downstairs and into the kitchen, where Dean's making breakfast—it's almost noon, so they should probably call it brunch instead, but it's summer, which means the time of day is irrelevant.

Castiel steps up to Dean when he's sure that Dean won't be moving anytime soon and puts his arms around his waist, leans in close to press his lips to the back of Dean's neck.

"I love you," he whispers against Dean's hairline, because it's safe to say these words as often as he wants now, and he doesn't think he'll ever get sick of hearing them from Dean.

"Love you too," Dean responds, low and fervent, and warmth swells in Castiel's chest until he thinks he's about to burst.

It's a perfect day.


	25. The Third Man

**A/N:** Dean and Cas get an unexpected guest.

**XXV. The Third Man**

It's Christmas Eve.

Dean and Cas hosted dinner this year—Dean still hasn't figured out when Cas became such an awesome cook, but he certainly isn't complaining.

Tonight, Sam and Jess came over, along with Lisa and Matt. They'd invited Anna, but she'd already booked tickets to California weeks ago. They'd also asked Matt to bring Jody and Owen along, but Jody had laughed off the invitation, saying that this was a "young adults'" gathering and that she and her younger son had no place there. She _had_ sent a few pies over though, so Cas hadn't had to worry about making a giant mess in the kitchen.

Now everyone's gone home—Sam's staying with Jess tonight. The dishes have been washed, the leftovers put away, and Dean's tugging Cas down the hall toward their bedroom.

"What's the rush? We have all night," Cas says as Dean pushes him against a wall. Dean steps in close, nips at his ear, and Cas lets out a contented sigh.

"God, Cas, want you," Dean murmurs, pressing his hips forward to grind their erections together.

Cas isn't fully hard yet, but Dean can tell he's getting there. Cas pulls Dean's head back, and their lips meet, and okay, foreplay is awesome, but Dean wants more—needs more.

Just when Dean's finally coaxing a reaction out of Cas—his hips are shifting, hands roaming restlessly over Dean's body—the doorbell rings. Dean's all for ignoring it, and when Cas tries to push Dean away, Dean just grabs onto Cas, pulling him away from the wall too.

Cas tears his mouth away. "Dean, we should answer that."

Dean only kneads his hands on Cas's ass instead, grinds their hips together nice and slow. "They're probably just some Christmas carolers," he mumbles into Cas's skin, and he pauses to leave a series of wet—_very_ wet—open-mouthed kisses all the way up the column of Cas's neck to his jaw. "If no one opens the door, they'll move on."

The doorbell rings again.

"Well, that theory's shot," Cas says, wriggling out of Dean's arms. "Go get the door."

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Dean groans, making a grab for Cas.

Cas dances out of Dean's reach. "It's my birthday, Dean. Be good."

"Do you not _see_ this boner?"

Cas grins. "Answer the door, and I'll reward you."

With that, he disappears into the bedroom.

"Fuck," Dean hisses. Then he says, louder, "Fuck you, Cas!"

"Only if you behave!" Cas shouts back.

Dean groans again before going back down the hallway, willing his erection away because the last thing he wants to do is traumatize some poor kids who are out singing Christmas carols. The doorbell rings again as he reaches the first floor, and he calls, "Coming, all right? I'm coming!"

He pauses in front of the door, only half-hard in his sweats now, but he figures it's dark enough in the entrance that whoever's outside won't really be able to tell. After one last sigh, he pulls the door open.

Outside stands a single boy, not the carolers Dean had expected, and Dean frowns. "You uh, with the Boy Scouts or somethin'?" he asks.

"No," the boy answers, and okay, maybe not _boy_. He's more like a teen—fifteen or sixteen by the looks of it—and he's carrying a backpack and a duffle bag.

"Okay…" Dean says. "So what are you doing here, kid?"

The teen is silent for a moment, looking at Dean uncertainly. "You… you can't be… John Winchester."

Dean blinks. "Uh. No. You uh, you lookin' for him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The teen shakes his head. "Who are you?"

"Uh, you're the one standing on my doorstep. Who are _you?_"

"I just—please. I need to find John Winchester."

"Okay, fine. He's not here. Now who are you?"

"I'm his son."

Dean stares. Breathes. Blinks a few times, and keeps staring. "No, you're not. I'm his son—me and my brother. You can't—" but Dean cuts himself off at the look on the kid's face, because he doesn't understand that expression at all—something caught between angry and sad and wistful…

The teen laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Right. Right, yeah. Of course he'd have sons already. I…" he shakes his head again. "Any idea where I can find him?"

Dean snorts. "Yeah. Try Orlando." Dean goes to shut the door, but Cas's voice stops him—

"Who's there?"

Dean glances to the side and sees Cas standing down the hall from him, and he's changed into sweats and a t-shirt. Dean's willing to bet Cas isn't wearing anything under the sweats. His cock jumps at the thought, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he's gotta think about something else. There's a stranger here.

Cas steps to Dean's side and looks out at the teen. "Hello," he says.

"Cas, it's fine. Let's go," Dean says, because he doesn't want to deal with Dad's messes, not right now. Not on Christmas Eve, not when all he wants is to spend time with Cas.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll just… go," the teen says.

"No—wait," Cas says, stepping in front of Dean to keep him from closing the door. The teen looks like he's trying to hide it, but Dean can see how hopeful he is. "What's your name?" Cas asks.

"Adam. Adam Milligan. I uh, I took my mother's name. John Winchester is my father."

Dean clenches his jaw, shakes his head. "Look, there is no way Dad was unfaithful to Mom, okay?" Dean hisses into Cas's ear. "No way."

"How old are you, Adam?" Cas asks, and Dean grits his teeth.

"Sixteen."

"Dean, you're almost twenty-eight," Cas says. "Adam would have been conceived long after your mother's death. It wouldn't have been—"

"Shut up," Dean says.

Cas reaches for Dean's hand and squeezes it once. Dean tries to pull it away, but Cas's grip is as strong as usual. "Why are you here?" Cas asks the kid—Adam.

"My… my mom died. She got really sick, and… fuck. She didn't wanna ask for help, because she was too fucking proud, and I just…" he stops.

Dean can't help but feel sorry for the kid—he knows how it is to lose a mother—but he can't get over the fact that this might be his half-brother. No. It's not friggin' possible. Dad would never—because Mom, he loved Mom. Loves Mom. He couldn't…

"I don't wanna go into the foster system," Adam says, and his voice shakes a little, but everything comes tumbling out after that. "If I can't find a legal guardian, that's what's gonna happen to me, and I don't… I really don't want it. You guys… if you could help me find my dad, please—I'd only need him to sign some papers. I can take care of myself just fine. It'll only be for two years, and I'll be legal. I mean, my birthday's in September, so it won't even be two whole years."

"Cas, I don't think—"

"We can at least ask your father, don't you think?" Cas says.

Dean wrests his hand out of Cas's grip and walks away. "Yeah. Fine," he says, and he's probably angrier than he should be, but the last thing he wants is to find out that Dad slept with some other woman out there. And maybe that's stupid of him, to think Dad would have stopped having sex altogether, but… but Mom and Dad had that forever kind of love, didn't they? Mom's death _broke_ Dad. How could he _have a kid_ with another woman?

Distantly, Dean hears Cas letting Adam into the house, hears them talking in low voices as Dean skips up the steps and goes into his bedroom, because that's where he left his phone to charge.

He sits down on his bed and stares at the phone for a minute before calling.

"Dean?"

Dad sounds worried, and it makes sense—Dean doesn't call all that often, and right now they're in different time zones—it's maybe an hour later in Orlando. "Dad."

"What's wrong?" Dad asks. Dean hesitates—he doesn't even know where to start. "Dean?"

"You love Mom, right?"

There's a long silence. "Why would you ask that?"

"Why do you think?"

"Don't answer my question with a question."

"You answered my question with a question," Dean points out.

"Dean."

Dean figures he should just get it over with. "Do you have another kid?"

"What?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself," Dean says.

After another pause, Dad says, heavily, "How did you know?"

And it feels like a stone has dropped straight through the bottom of his stomach. Dean swallows. "So it's true."

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Adam showed up on our doorstep a few minutes ago," Dean says.

"What? Why would he—"

"His mom is dead." More silence. Dean really doesn't know what to make of it. "Aren't you gonna say something?" he prompts.

Finally, Dad says, "When did it happen?"

"I don't know," Dean says. "Do you wanna talk to him?"

"I… can't."

"You can't," Dean says, unable to hide the note of incredulity in his voice. He gets to his feet, because he can't sit through this conversation. "You can't even talk to him on the phone. So you're definitely not gonna come back for him then, are you?"

"Dean—"

"Dad, we just got a brother we never even knew about—your _third son_ just showed up on our doorstep, and you're _still_ not gonna come back here? Don't you even wanna know what the kid looks like?"

"Dean, I have a very important call waiting on the other line. I can't—"

"Yeah, all right, fine. Fuck you, too." He hangs up and turns his phone off, turns around in time to see Cas standing in the doorway, face carefully blank. "Oh, go ahead and take his side," Dean grumbles, tossing his phone onto the bed and folding his arms across his chest.

Cas shakes his head and says nothing as he crosses the room and pulls at Dean's arms. Dean lets him pry his arms apart, and then Cas is stepping forward, wrapping his arms around Dean.

"I'm sorry," Cas murmurs into the base of his neck.

Dean wants to be mad, wants to be indignant at Cas's pity, but he's just too tired.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak, Cas says, "No, don't," and Dean isn't even surprised that Cas knew he was about to talk. "Just listen, Dean. I'm sorry that your father doesn't have the strength to return and face you. I'm sorry that you can't have the close-knit family that you want."

Dean stiffens, and he wants Cas to stop talking, but he needs to hear what else Cas has to say. He starts to pull away, but Cas only allows him to back up about a step. He raises his eyes to Dean, and he looks steady and solid, looks like he could take Dean's weight if he collapsed right now.

"I would tell you to stop waiting, that it's much less painful that way," Cas continues, "but I know you won't stop, because that's the person you are. And I know that this doesn't change anything, but for what it's worth, I'm here. I'm waiting with you—Sam is waiting with you. You are not alone."

Suddenly all Dean wants to do is break down, but he forces himself to laugh instead. "Cas, keep it up, and we're both gonna grow vaginas."

Cas huffs a soft laugh. "Some things never change." Dean doesn't know how to answer that, so he says nothing. Then Cas says, "I set Adam up in a guest room down the hall."

Dean frowns. "Cas…"

"It's Christmas, Dean. He has nowhere to go. And if your father won't sign on to be his guardian… I really think you should."

"What? I can't—"

"He already said that he's mostly self-sufficient," Cas says. "And he explained his situation more clearly to me. They had to sell their house to pay for hospital bills. Adam stayed in a homeless shelter for a while and spent his days between school and his mother's hospital room. When she died, government officials came to Adam to get him set up in the foster system. They only let him leave because he said that he could go to his father."

Dean sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, all right, fine. I'll go talk to the guy."

Cas gives Dean a small smile. "I knew you'd make the right choice."

Dean rolls his eyes as he exits the room. "Mhmm, sure you did."

He heads down the hall to the only other room that has its light on. Cas's footsteps remain close behind him, and Dean can't help but feel grateful that Cas is here, because if he hadn't stopped Dean from closing that door, this kid would be stranded and homeless on Christmas. And… and even if Adam is proof that Dad slipped up, he's still… he's still family, which means that Dean will make sure he's taken care of.

Dean raps on the open door, and Adam looks up from his duffle bag.

"What uh, what did John—Dad—say?"

"I might've gotten into a fight with him. I'll give you his number tomorrow, and you can call him yourself, 'kay?"

"And… tonight?"

"Well, my uh, my better half says that you're stayin' here. So you're stayin' here," Dean answers. The kid's relief is palpable, and yeah, Cas was right—this was the right thing to do. "Did you have anything for dinner yet?"

"No," Adam admits. "I've been on a bus for twelve hours."

"We have plenty of leftovers," Cas says. "Come on downstairs. I'll get you something to eat."

"It's okay. I'm really not that hungry."

"Hey, you can't just skip out on food when you haven't eaten anything in so long," Dean says. "Come on." When Adam doesn't move immediately, Dean adds, "Cas isn't gonna let us go to sleep if you go to bed hungry, so you'd be doing me a favor."

"Okay, I'll eat," Adam says.

"Great," Cas says, and then he's walking away toward the stairs.

Dean lets Adam walk past him before following. "Have you ever met him? Dad, I mean."

Adam nods. "Once, a long time ago. I didn't really get to talk to him. My mom… they had a really big fight. I didn't know what it was about then, but thinking back, I… I'm pretty sure it was about me."

As they start going down the steps, Dean says, "Where are you from, anyway? What are your plans?"

"I'm from Minnesota. And I really don't have any plans. I just… all I want right now is to stay outta the system," Adam says. "I had a friend back at school who spent six years in the system before finding a foster home that really wanted to keep him, and I've heard tons of shit about it. I… I wanna go back to school, but right now, staying out of the foster system is top priority."

"Yeah, I hear you," Dean says, steering Adam toward the kitchen. He stops him just outside, and Adam looks up at him questioningly. "Look, kid. I—"

"Dude. Don't call me 'kid' unless you wanna be called 'old man,' okay?"

This surprises a laugh out of Dean. "Yeah, okay. Adam, what I wanted to say was… if things don't work out with Dad tomorrow, I uh…" Dean hesitates, but Adam's got this hopeful look in his eyes. "I'm your half-brother, and I'm…"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Cas says, startling both Adam and Dean. They look over to see him standing in the entrance to the kitchen. "What Dean means to say is that he's willing to sign for you."

Adam looks at Dean. "You'd really do that?"

Dean had been reluctant when Cas first suggested it, and he hadn't even been _really_ sure about it when he agreed, but looking at Adam—his half-brother—now, he has no idea why he even questioned it. "Yeah," he says. "Of course I would."

Adam breaks into a huge smile. "Thanks. I… really. Thank you."

Dean clears his throat. "Yeah, don't mention it."

When Adam opens his mouth to speak, Cas says, "He really means it when he asks you not to mention it. If you're gonna be staying here for an extended length of time, you'll learn that your half-brother is allergic to the larger spectrum of human emotion."

"Oh, shut the hell up, Cas," Dean says, and Adam laughs.

The microwave goes off then, and Cas goes back into the kitchen. Adam and Dean follow. Cas passes Adam a plate of roast beef, with mashed potatoes and squash on the side.

"Thanks," Adam says, taking the fork and knife that Dean hands over.

"You're welcome," Cas answers. "I'm willing to bet you're tired—Dean and I can leave you alone to eat. I'll get you a towel if you'd like to take a shower when you're finished. There's a bathroom next door to your room."

"That all sounds great. Thank you so much—both of you. I don't know what I'd…" Adam stops and looks down at the ground.

Cas places a hand on Adam's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "It's really no problem."

"Don't stay up too late, kid," Dean says, and Adam shoots a glare in his direction, but there's no heat behind it.

Then Cas is herding Dean upstairs. Dean goes without protest until they reach the landing, where Cas shoves him in the direction of the bedroom and then goes off in search of towels for Adam.

Dean returns to his bedroom and thinks about whether or not he should call Sam. But after a moment of consideration, he decides against it—it'll be better to tell him tomorrow, because Sam's probably asleep by now, and if he's not, he's probably busy with Jess.

Arms wrap around him from behind, and Dean smiles.

"Merry Christmas," Cas says, and a quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand reveals that it is indeed after midnight.

"Merry Christmas," Dean repeats, turning around and pulling Cas close.

And it _is_ a merry Christmas, because regardless of the circumstances, and regardless of what the outcome of Adam's talk with Dad will be, the Winchester family has grown by one, and Dean believes that that's a good thing.


	26. The Tradition: Year 7

**A/N:** Of course Dean thinks he could take Kato. Of course.

**XXVI. The Tradition: Year 7**

"But if you say that that was a good movie, I think I might have to break our tradition next year in protest," Castiel says as they exit the theater.

Dean laughs. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

"But you agree that it was bad," Castiel says.

"Yeah," Dean answers. "Yeah, it was pretty bad. Seth Rogen is still funny, though."

Castiel considers it. "I don't think he's funny," he decides.

"That's 'cause you've got a terrible sense of humor," Dean says.

"To each his own," Castiel responds.

Dean huffs. "Sure. Bet you I could take Kato, if I wanted to."

"I highly doubt that. You'd be lucky if you could win a match against me," Castiel says.

"Dude, I could kick your skinny ass any day."

"I'd like to see you try."

"You say that as though we've never wrestled before," Dean says.

"Maybe I've been going easy on you to lull you into a false sense of security."

"Oh, _really?_ We'll see about that."

Castiel allows himself a small smile. "Are you saying you want to fight me, Dean?"

"I'm saying I'm gonna prove you wrong," Dean answers.

"Hmm," Castiel says nonchalantly. "After dinner, maybe."

"No 'maybe.' After dinner, I'm taking you down," Dean says as they get into the car. "Unless you have work to do, that is."

It's more considerate than usual for Dean, and Castiel appreciates it—he's halfway through his third year as a graduate student, so he's busy putting ideas together for his dissertation. Dean spent most of break doing his best to distract Castiel from his work, so this shift in demeanor is welcome. "It's fine, Dean. I have plenty of free time tonight," he answers.

"It's Monday," Dean reminds him—needlessly.

"Yes, I know," Castiel says. Dean changes into the right lane, and Castiel frowns. "I thought I said we were going to be eating at my apartment tonight."

Dean glances at him. "What, you got something against the Roadhouse?"

"Of course not. But we agreed—"

"I'm hungry, Cas. I don't wanna wait for you to cook."

"Be patient, Dean. Please," he adds when Dean doesn't answer.

"Fine," Dean says, switching into the left lane with a put-upon sigh. "I guess I should let you have your way if I'm gonna beat your ass up later."

Castiel decides not to answer, just smiles to himself.

It takes about ten minutes for them to reach Castiel's apartment. He unlocks the door and pushes it open, takes his own shoes off and stands aside to let Dean in. As Dean removes his shoes, Castiel closes the door and flicks the light on.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Dean jolts and jumps backwards, slamming Castiel into the door, and the cacophony of shouts and cheering turns to laughter and clapping.

"Oh, fuck you!" Dean bellows over the noise. "Fuck all of you!"

Castiel shoves Dean away from him and massages his elbow, because that made hardest contact with the door. "Happy birthday, jackass," he says, and Dean heads farther into the apartment to the others.

"Here's the birthday boy," Castiel hears Jo say, and he turns in time to see Jo squeezing the life out of Dean. "How old are you this year?"

"I've lost count, but he can't be more than ten or eleven," Victor quips as Jo backs off, and he steps forward to give Dean a quick one-armed hug.

"Sam and Jess," Dean says, grinning. "Thought you two had work to be doing."

Jess rolls her eyes. "Well, we were lying. Obviously."

"All right, so where's dinner?" Dean asks.

"Jess made meatloaf," Jo says as Castiel stops at the edge of the living room.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "From scratch?"

"Yeah," Sam answers. "She wouldn't let any of us help, either."

"That's a lie. I let you mash the potatoes," Jess points out.

"It smells great," Dean comments. "Probably better than anything Cas would've made, at any rate."

"Hey, don't forget the lasagna Cas brought over for Christmas," Sam says.

"Thank you, Sam," Castiel says, watching as Jess passes by him to get to the kitchen. "I'll help you with the serving," he offers, but Jess shakes her head and gestures at him to stay put.

"So, how goes job hunting?" Dean asks Victor—he quit his job at a gun shop about a week ago.

"I think I'm gonna do it," Victor answers, and Dean's eyes widen.

"You're serious about it."

"I don't think it's such a bad idea, to be honest," Jo says. "I've been thinking about joining myself, but Mom gets angry whenever I even mention it."

Castiel remembers that Victor had mentioned something about entering the police academy and becoming a police officer some time back. It had sounded like a joke at the time, but Castiel hasn't seen Victor in quite a while, so it makes sense that he wouldn't be certain how serious Victor is about it.

"Well I mean, it's not totally uncalled for," Dean responds. "Your dad did die while he was on duty."

"Yeah, but he saved lives, and he really believed in what he did," Jo says. "And what about me? I'm stuck as a freakin' waitress at my mom's bar because she doesn't think I can handle myself."

"Join with me, then," Victor says. "It's not as though you're not a legal adult yet. You don't need permission from your mom."

"Or you could wait," Castiel suggests. "Your mother cares very much about you, and I'm sure you would be able to wear her down eventually. It'd be better to go into the academy with her blessing than against her wishes."

"That has nothing to do with anything," Jo says.

"You'll feel better if you don't have to be guilty for disappointing your mom," Sam reasons.

"Precisely," Castiel agrees.

Jo pouts. "What do you think, Dean?"

Dean shrugs. "In the end, it's your choice, but you know what I think already."

"Yeah, yeah. Family first, blah, blah."

"Sam!" Jess calls from the kitchen. Sam instantly heads toward the hall, and Castiel steps out of the way to let him past.

"C'mon, let's sit down," Dean says, walking around the couch and settling in. Jo and Victor sit on either side of him, and Castiel takes one of the two armchairs flanking the couch.

Sam returns with two large plates heaped with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans.

"Oh wow," Victor says. "That looks amazing. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Why would _you_ skip lunch? You don't even have a job anymore," Jo says, taking one of the plates. Sam hands the other to Dean and turns to go back into the kitchen.

"I was taking care of my mother, okay?" Victor says to Jo. Then he shouts, "Yo, Sam! Need some utensils in here, or I'm just gonna use my hands!"

Castiel starts to get to his feet, but Dean gestures at him to stay put. "Dude, let Sam do the legwork. You always cook when we're here."

"That's not true," Castiel says, but he sits back down anyway.

Then Sam's coming back out with another two plates, followed this time by Jess with one. As Sam passes one of his plates to Dean, Jess steps over to give hers to Castiel, and he hesitates.

"I'll be back with my own plate in a sec," she says, offering the food to him. "And utensils," she adds, pointing a finger at Victor before he can speak up.

Castiel accepts the plate, and it _does_ smell delicious. "I really think you've outdone yourself this time," he says to Jess as she heads back toward the kitchen.

"Save your compliments for when you've already tried it," Jess responds.

"Anyway, when are you planning on joining?" Sam asks Victor, continuing the conversation from before. "I mean, you're the only one supporting your mom, right?"

"It's not so bad," Victor answers. After a pause, he adds, "I'd rather not talk about it, though."

Sam nods. "Yeah, of course. Sorry—"

"It's fine, you don't have to apologize," Victor interrupts.

"Okay, I've got forks and knives, and a stack of napkins," Jess announces. She places the napkins on the coffee table and passes the utensils around.

"Um, I think it'd be easier for us to just sit on the floor and use the coffee table," Jo says.

"Yeah, let's do that. Cas keeps this place pretty clean," Dean says.

"You would know," Jo says, putting her plate down on the coffee table and sitting down on the ground. The others follow suit, and it's a bit of a squeeze because there are six of them together, but it's cozy too—Januarys are cold in Lawrence.

Before anyone can start eating, Jess blurts out, "Hey wait, we haven't sang yet!"

"Oh, come on. Can we not do that?" Dean says.

"We'll sing over the pie," Victor says.

"Great!" Jo says. "Now let's eat."

* * *

As soon as the door closes behind Sam and Jess, Castiel finds himself pinned to it. He sighs. "Dean, at least let me clean up a little first."

"The mess will be there tomorrow morning," Dean murmurs in his ear, and it's tempting, but Castiel would rather leave the dishes soaking in the sink than out on the table.

"Dean, if you don't let me go right now—"

"Okay, okay," Dean says, backing off.

_Fuck it_, Castiel thinks. He spins around and catches Dean off-guard, manages to clock him in the jaw. Dean reels back—_son of a bitch!_ he snaps—but he's grinning, and Castiel ducks the fist that comes flying at his face. Castiel doesn't like fighting with his back up against a door, so he gives Dean a hard shove, trying to make a little more room for himself. Dean's hand latches onto his forearm, tugging him within reach, and Castiel throws himself to the side, flattening against the wall to avoid a blow. He aims a kick at Dean's thigh, but Dean sidesteps it and scrabbles for Castiel's other arm.

Castiel manages to wriggle out, but Dean sticks a leg out to trip him, and Castiel stumbles down the length of the hall, catching himself on the back of the sofa. But it gives Dean time to catch up, and before Castiel can push away from the couch, Dean's pressed against his back, pinning his hips to it.

"Mm, I like this," Dean breathes hotly, tongue flicking out against Castiel's earlobe.

Castiel hesitates, giving Dean a moment to enjoy his supposed triumph, before throwing his head back, whacking it into Dean's. It hurts him, sure, but it hurts Dean too, and at least Castiel is expecting the pain.

"God_damn!_" Dean curses, staggering back a step, and Castiel slips out from between Dean and the couch and darts into his bedroom. He hears Dean following close behind him, so he spins around, half-crouching to anticipate Dean's next move.

Dean's arm shoots out, and Castiel parries, dodging to the left and countering with a punch to Dean's chest. But Dean rotates his torso so that Castiel's fist only brushes against him, and he wraps his hand around Castiel's arm and pushes at Castiel's shoulder in an attempt to pin his arm behind his back. Deducing his intention, Castiel ducks and twists around, keeping his arm in front of him. This puts Dean between Castiel and the bed, so Castiel lunges forward, barreling into Dean.

Dean grunts in surprise when they land on the bed, Castiel on top of him. Castiel pins Dean's right arm to the bed with his leg, but the other moves too quickly, clips Castiel's jaw before he can catch it. Still Castiel manages to stay on top of Dean, grabs his left hand and shoves it into the mattress before pressing his own free hand to Dean's neck.

"Yield," Castiel demands.

Dean struggles against his hold until Castiel tightens his grip around Dean's neck. At that, Dean finally lies still, breathing unevenly. Castiel smiles triumphantly, but a mischievous look flashes in Dean's eyes, and then Dean suddenly surges up, throwing Castiel to the side. Castiel loses his hold on Dean's neck—he'd loosened his grip when he thought he'd won—and flops ungracefully onto the ground. Dean is on him before he can react, and Castiel's at a distinct disadvantage this time because he's on his stomach.

"_Yield?_" Dean huffs, leaning down so that his lips brush Castiel's ear. "What do you think this is, a medieval duel?"

Castiel chuckles. "Okay, okay, you win. Now get off me."

"Oh, I don't think so," Dean says, and Castiel can practically _hear_ him grinning. "I should fuck you right here, just like this."

"Is that supposed to scare me, Dean?"

Instead of responding verbally, Dean shifts and sinks his teeth into the back of Castiel's neck, drawing an involuntary hiss of pain from him.

"That _hurt_," Castiel complains.

"Yeah, that was what I was going for," Dean answers. He slides off Castiel's back, but when Castel tries to get up, he presses Castiel back down firmly.

"I don't want to have sex on the ground, Dean," Castiel says, sighing. "Aren't you worried about rug burn?"

"Hmm," Dean says, but Castiel can tell from the tone of his voice that he's considering Castiel's words only mockingly. "Nope," he decides. "Not worried at all. Stay right there."

Castiel considers getting up when he hears Dean walking around to the other side of the bed, but it _is_ Dean's birthday, so Castiel chooses to obey instead.

"C'mon. Hands and knees," Dean says when he's behind Castiel again.

Castiel hesitates for a moment before following Dean's instructions. Then Dean's reaching around him, unsnapping his jeans and pushing the zipper down. Impatient hands pull at Castiel's jeans and underwear, tugging them down just far enough that his ass is exposed.

"In a hurry, are you?" Castiel says, and Dean chuckles.

"Yeah, in a hurry to get inside you," Dean answers.

There's the click of a bottle opening, and then Dean's slick finger is pressing at Castiel's entrance, working inside quickly but gently. Castiel doesn't remember the last time he was desperate enough to have sex while still mostly clothed, but at least this means he won't get rug burn on his knees. Dean's fingers—two now—suddenly press on Castiel's prostate, hard, and Castiel cries out, muscles locking up.

"_There_ you are," Dean says, scissoring his fingers. "Thought I'd lost you for a minute."

Castiel stifles another groan at Dean's ministrations and manages to get out, "Oh, no—can't have that."

Dean huffs a laugh. "You're mouthy today, Cas," he says, starting to work a third finger in, and he's going faster than usual, but it's good enough that Castiel doesn't care, just wants more.

But as soon as Castiel starts pressing back against Dean's fingers, Dean slows down, and Castiel can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes his lips. "_Dean_," he complains, clenching tight around Dean's fingers.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean hisses, shoving his fingers in and twisting. Castiel jerks involuntarily, arches his back to shove his ass back at Dean, and earns a simultaneously amused and breathy chuckle. "Like that, hmm?" Dean says, repeating the motion.

Castiel whimpers at the stimulation, and Christ, his jeans aren't even pulled down enough to expose his erection. He rocks his hips back and forth, trying to get some friction from his pants, but Dean stills him with a hard grip on his hip.

"We're doing this my way," Dean says.

Before Castiel can protest, Dean's fingers pull out of his body, and Castiel spreads his legs a bit wider in anticipation. The blunt pressure of Dean's cock pushing into him is the perfect amount of stretch, with just the slightest bit of pain. Castiel bites his lip to stifle his own groan, listening to the whine that passes through Dean's lips.

"_Fuuuuuck_," Dean moans. "Never gonna get enough of this."

Castiel wants to respond, but Dean pulls out and shoves back in, hard, knocking the breath right out of him. Dean sets a quick pace, and Castiel tries his best to keep up. He drops to his elbows, and the change in angle makes it so that Dean's hitting the perfect spot with every thrust. Castiel can't stop the embarrassing sounds that make it out of his throat at that, and fuck, he's gonna come in his pants, and there's nothing he can do about it.

It only takes a few more strokes to set Castiel off, and he'd be embarrassed about coming so quickly, except that he can feel Dean's hips juddering to a halt as he climaxes.

Dean pulls out, and Castiel turns around to see Dean getting to his feet, knees shaking a bit. He removes his pants the rest of the way and collapses onto Castiel's bed, breathing hard. Castiel feels Dean's come trickling back out and sighs, because this means he's gonna have to clean the carpet—tomorrow, not today, because he's in no state for cleaning right now.

"That was awesome," Dean says.

"Happy birthday," Castiel responds, and Dean just laughs. Castiel gives himself another minute before standing up and undressing. "I need a shower," he proclaims, tossing his dirty clothes in the hamper before heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

The water hasn't even warmed up yet when Dean catches up to him.


	27. The Departure

**A/N:** Castiel goes through yet another episode in the "Abandonment Issues of Dean Winchester" saga. Warnings for mildly dubious consent, light bondage.

**XXVII. The Departure**

It's been about a month and a half since Sam's acceptance letter came in, and Dean's happy for him. Really, he is. He's proud of his little brother, because Dean was never that into school—he did well, but not _that_ well, and he didn't care to advance in academia.

The reason why Dean's unhappy has nothing to do with Sam getting into an awesome law school. He's unhappy because Sam's gonna be halfway across the country. Dad's already moved pretty much permanently to Orlando, and now Sam's getting ready to go to Stanford—and it doesn't help that Sam also got accepted into some special internship program that's gonna need him to move his ass over there at the beginning of summer, almost three months before the start of the school year.

And Dean's still gonna be here, in this pointlessly huge house. He knows, logically, that Dad and Sam aren't running from Dean, that Dean himself isn't the problem, but he can't help but feel that they'd rather be elsewhere, with other people. Because he's always gonna be the one who's left here while Dad and Sam spread out to either side of the fucking country.

Cas's voice interrupts his stream of thoughts. "You're doing that annoying brooding thing again. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

Cas sighs, and then the television turns off.

"Hey, I was watching that," Dean protests.

"No, you weren't," Cas answers, putting the remote control down and turning to face Dean. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," Dean insists, reaching for the remote.

But Cas swats his hand out of the way, grabs the remote and puts it on the armrest of the couch farther from Dean. "No, hey," he says. "You've had that terrible sour look on your face for the past two weeks, and I haven't said anything because I've been waiting for you to say something, but that's clearly not gonna happen, so we're gonna talk about this."

Dean pushes off the couch and gets to his feet. "There's nothing to talk about."

Before Dean can take a step, Cas's hand is wrapped around his wrist. And then Cas is standing, shifting to block Dean's path. Cas's blue eyes are fiery, and Dean turns away.

"Stop it, Cas. I'm fine."

Cas huffs, not bothering to hide his frustration. "I call bullshit. You're definitely not fine, so I'm gonna ask you again: what's bothering you?"

"And I'm gonna tell you that I'm _fine_."

"Dean, Cas!"

That's Sam's voice, coming from downstairs. "Yeah?" Dean shouts back.

"I'm heading out, 'kay? Don't wait up!"

"Staying the night at Jess's?" Dean asks.

"Yep!"

Dean smirks. "Use protection!"

"Fuck you!"

The front door slams shut, ending the conversation.

"It's about Sam," Cas says, and Dean really shouldn't be so surprised that he knows—Cas has always been freakily perceptive when it comes to Dean.

Dean sighs, surrenders. "Fine. You're not allowed to laugh at me."

"I would never."

"That's a lie."

"Just get on with it," Cas says.

"I'm not ready for Sam to leave."

Cas nods. "I thought it might be about that."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Then why'd you bother asking? We don't need to talk about this."

"No, we don't," Cas agrees, and Dean enjoys about a millisecond of relief before Cas continues, "but you and Sam should."

"What? No, we shouldn't," Dean says.

"Sam should know how you feel about this."

Dean shakes his head. "Can we not do this?"

"It isn't that difficult," Cas says, and when Dean tries to pull away, Cas's grip tightens on his wrist. "All you have to say is that you'll miss him when he's gone, or you wish he could go to a closer school."

"Damn it, Cas, I'm trying to be supportive, okay?" Dean says, shoving Cas's hand off his arm and walking away. He takes a few steps toward the door, hoping to escape—

But Cas moves too quickly, slams a hand on the door to hold it shut just as Dean gets a hand on the doorknob. "Yeah well, you're allowed to have your own opinion and be supportive at the same time," Cas says.

Dean turns to face him, annoyed. "Look, I—"

"You're allowed to tell Sam that you'd rather have him here, that you wish he could say. That's just how you feel about the situation."

"I'm not gonna guilt-trip him into staying, Cas."

"That isn't—_how_ is that guilt-tripping? That is you expressing your opinion like an adult, and I'm sure Sam would appreciate it, because you hardly ever actually _talk_ to him about the things that matter. As it is, you've made it sound like you fucking _want_ him to leave, Dean."

"Shut up, okay? We're done here."

"No. Not until you get your head outta your ass and talk to your brother."

"Why does it even matter to you, huh? It's not like any of this is your problem."

"Uh huh, right. It's not my problem. Except you know that it is, because I'm the sorry son of a bitch that has to listen to you moaning on and on about—"

"Hey!" Dean bristles. "I'm not _moaning_—"

"May as well be. And don't tell me you haven't been mopey the past two weeks about this, because I've been paying attention."

"I wouldn't have said a thing if _you_ hadn't—"

"It doesn't matter what you have or haven't _said_, Dean! It's in your actions, your facial expressions, everything. You sit there and frown _all_ the time. You've been even more short-tempered than usual, and that's saying something. You zone out while people are talking. I don't even know if your head's in it when we're fucking!"

"Oh, that is _it!_" Dean snarls, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and spinning them, slamming Cas into the door hard enough for it to rattle in the frame.

Cas's eyes fly wide open for just a moment, startled, but then the angry look settles back over his face, the lines of his eyebrows, and he opens his mouth to continue. _Oh no, you don't_, Dean thinks, and surges forward, smashing their mouths together.

"No—Dean—I don't—mmph!"

Dean prides himself on being able to kiss Cas senseless, but Cas isn't going down easy right now—he pushes at Dean's chest, bites at Dean's lips and tongue to stop him. But Dean knows Cas, knows that Cas would never actually _hurt_ him, so he goes for it, traps both of Cas's wrists in one hand and uses the other to grip Cas's face, holding Cas's jaw open and just _taking_.

Cas, for his part, does his best to fight Dean off. Dean can feel Cas's arms straining downward, trying to free themselves from Dean's grasp. Cas wriggles and squirms between Dean and the door, but that only means that he's pressing against Dean in different ways, and Dean doesn't bother hiding his erection when he starts to get hard—that's the whole point of this, anyway. He presses forward with his lower body, rocks his hips against Cas's, and isn't all that surprised to feel Cas getting hard, too.

He pulls his head back slightly, mouths his way along Cas's jaw to his neck, biting none-too-gently at the stubbled flesh, and Cas groans, continues his struggling. He jerks his head to the side, hard and abrupt, and manages to dislodge Dean's hand.

"Dean, fucking—stop trying to distract me! We're not doing this right now!" Cas barks, and he sounds _furious_.

"You think my head's not in it, huh?" Dean growls, pulling back so that he can see Cas's face—and yeah, those stupidly beautiful sapphire eyes are filled with anger. "I'll show you."

"You're not even making sense!"

"Do I look like I care?"

The conversation proves to be enough of a distraction for Cas to wriggle one of his ridiculously skinny wrists free, because the next thing Dean knows, a fist is connecting with his face with surprising force, and he staggers back a step.

"_Not right now_," Cas is snarling.

But Dean sees red, grabs at Cas before he can leave the room. They grapple with each other for a moment, but Dean eventually manages to pin Cas again, this time with his face pressed to the wall.

"Is this really gonna make you feel better? Proving yourself like this? What you need is to talk to Sam, Dean," Cas says, voice ridiculously steady all of a sudden, and Dean just can't have that, not when he's feeling the way he is—hot and aching and crazy.

"What I need right now is a nice, tight ass to bury my cock in. You up for that?" he purrs, leaning close. Cas shudders a little under his touch, and Dean knows Cas, knows that this is the _good_ kind of shudder. He chuckles, low and dark. "You want that, Cas?" Dean says, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I want you to talk to Sam about—"

"What the _hell_, Cas!" Dean explodes, because no matter how much he loves his little brother, Sam is the last person he wants to think about when he's about to fuck. He hooks his fingers into the collar of Cas's shirt, hauling him back and toward his bedroom.

"What—Dean—" Cas says, flailing as he's dragged along, forced to walk backwards.

"Will you shut up?" Dean says angrily when they reach his room. He finally lets go of Cas and rummages through his drawer, looking for a tie and a belt, and Cas doesn't even try to get away, just stands there and glares at Dean.

"If you would be reasonable and just admit that you and Sam—"

Cas doesn't get any further than that because Dean stuffs a wadded-up tie into his mouth, gagging him. Before Cas can pull the gag out, Dean snatches his hands, holding them together. Cas's eyes are wide, but Dean reads no fear in them. Only anger, mixed with healthy portions of curiosity and arousal. And hell yeah, he can work with that.

Instead of pushing Cas to the bed, Dean releases his hands and turns to shove him face-first against the wall, keeping him there with a firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. Cas reaches again for the makeshift gag, but Dean catches his hands, pulls them behind his back and cinches them together with his belt.

"Mmf!" Cas protests, shifting back, but Dean doesn't let up, presses his hand between Cas's shoulder blades again. He leans forward and licks up the long column of Cas's neck, biting down when he reaches the bolt of his jaw.

"You think I could take you, just like this?" he breathes into Cas's ear, letting his other hand trail down along Cas's side to his hip. "You still wet enough from this morning?"

Cas shudders, and when Dean presses his hips forward, Cas lets out a quiet moan, rolls his ass back against him.

"Hmm, I'll take that as a yes," Dean mutters into the base of Cas's neck, tongue slipping out to taste the sweat-salty skin. He grasps Cas by the hips and pulls him back, grinding them together slow and filthy, teasing himself just because he can, because Cas can't do anything to stop him, and that's way hotter than he ever would've thought it would be.

Cas makes a frustrated sound, spreads his legs wider, and Dean grins, does the opposite of what Cas wants and holds completely still. He reaches around and presses the heel of his hand against Cas's groin, rubs against the hardness he can feel there.

"Mm!" Cas says, shifting back and forth, like he can't decide whether he wants to grind back against Dean or press forward into his hand, and Dean doesn't know what's coming over him, except that it's unstoppable and _good_. He slips his thumbs under the waistband of Cas's sweats and pulls them down, and fuck, Cas is bare under them—it's like he _wanted_ this to happen.

Dean's mind shorts a little at the thought that Cas was just sitting on his couch, commando, and he thrusts his hips forward once. "You want this?" he growls. Cas doesn't even hesitate before nodding, and Dean leans forward to bite at Cas's jaw again. "Slut," he whispers.

Cas tenses up, lets out a strangled sound, and Dean's tried dirty talk before with other partners and never liked it, but he _does_ like the flush that he sees rising on Cas's cheek, so he tries again.

"Feeling desperate, Cas? Want me to fill you up?" His fingers find Cas's hole, and it's not wet, but when Dean slides his index finger inside, Cas's walls are slick, still slightly loose, and Dean groans, adds another finger and uses his other hand to pull down his own pants and underwear. "God, Cas. You're still wet from this morning, but it's just not enough for your slutty little hole, is it?"

Cas whines, presses back onto Dean's fingers and cants his hips up, like he's begging for it the only way he can, and Dean knows this is too soon, knows that he should be prepping Cas some more, probably searching for some more lube, but he just can't wait. And part of him wants Cas to _feel_ it, wants Cas to hurt because Dean hurts, and god, he just wants someone to hurt with him.

Dean withdraws his fingers, grins when Cas whimpers, and places his hands on Cas's ass, spreads his cheeks so he can look at his hole, soft and open. But Dean's had enough of his own teasing, so he steps forward, nudges the head of his cock against Cas's opening. Cas moans at the contact and tries to grind back, makes an impatient sound when Dean doesn't move immediately.

But then Dean is guiding his cock into that opening, and fuck, Cas is so tight around him, clenches even tighter when Dean's cock brushes against his prostate. Dean presses in steadily until he bottoms out, hips flush against Cas's backside, and this, this silken heat, is bliss.

He holds still for a moment longer, just enjoying the connection, before drawing back and snapping his hips forward, hard. Cas yelps and tenses around him, his hole tightening like it doesn't want Dean to pull out, wants Dean to stay buried up in there as long as possible. But Dean doesn't stay still, builds up a punishing rhythm, pumping hard and fast into Cas, savoring the muffled cries that the gag can't hold back.

"Oh, fuck, _yes_," he hisses between thrusts, lifting one of his hands to press against the back of Cas's neck.

Cas turns his head to let Dean shove him into the wall without breaking his nose, and _god_, yeah, Cas is so perfect, so submissive—_mine, mine, all mine_, Dean's mind feverishly supplies. Dean's got him in a position where he's got pretty much no leverage, but he clenches around Dean whenever he's hilted inside him, and fuck, Dean's not gonna last.

"You feelin' it yet, Cas?" he manages, plunging in and staying there, right up against where he knows Cas's prostate is. And he knows he's got the right spot, because Cas is rigid, whining pitifully at the stimulation in the way that he does when he's really fucking close. "Think you can come like this?" he leans in close to murmur, and he barely even knows what he's saying, just that he _has_ to talk. "Maybe I won't even have to move. What do you think, hm? Think I can talk an orgasm right outta you?"

Dean leans back a bit, looks down at Cas's hands, held together by Dean's belt.

"God," he says. "Just look at you, all tied up and helpless and taking my cock 'cause you've got no other choice." He runs a finger along Cas's stretched rim, feels how the muscle jumps under his touch, and adds, "So fucking sensitive, it's no wonder you always wanna be stuffed full. How does it feel when my come leaks outta you, hmm? Do you like it?"

A small voice in Dean's head is asking him what the fuck he's doing, what he's _saying_, but Cas moans, loud and clear, and that voice can just go to hell 'cause Dean will do almost anything for Cas to make that fucking criminal noise again. Cas tries to shove back against Dean, but Dean's already balls-deep, and he's not about to move anytime soon.

"You like feeling all sloppy and wet down there? You like being reminded that I get to fill you up, that I get to coat your insides with come? Maybe we should get a plug, that way I can fill you up for real, let you carry a little reminder of me inside you all day—in your classes, in office hours, students will ask you for help, and they'll have no idea how filthy you are, filled to the brim with my come and lovin' every second of it."

Cas shudders, and then his hole spasms around Dean, and he's crying out his release. Dean reaches a hand around to work him through it, even as he starts moving again, because now that Cas has climaxed, Dean can let loose, go fucking wild.

He only lasts a few more thrusts before he's coming, slowing his hips as he spurts.

Spent, he lets himself slump forward, pressing Cas into the wall. He kisses Cas's neck, braces his hands against the wall, and waits to catch his breath.

When he feels like he can stand up straight without getting dizzy, Dean backs up, pulls out, and watches as a rush of come leaks out of Cas, running down the insides of his thighs. Then his eyes flick up, and now that he's coming down from the high, guilt smashes into him like a freight train—Cas has a bruise between his shoulder blades, has finger-shaped marks on his neck from when Dean shoved him into the wall, and Dean must've been rougher than he'd meant to be.

Except that—he wasn't. He remembers wanting Cas to feel the pain, and what the _hell_ was he thinking?

Cas's wrists are still bound together, and he can see red marks around them, clearly from pulling against the restraints, and Dean hadn't even _asked_ before binding and gagging him.

Suddenly, he feels sick.

Then Cas is turning his head to look over his shoulder at Dean. He jerks his head down with intent, and Dean numbly undoes the belt, lets it drop to the ground. Cas turns around to face Dean and steps away from the wall, rubbing his wrists.

"Cas, I—" Dean starts, voice a little shaky, but he can't continue. What is he supposed to say? _Sorry?_ How can sorry be enough? They hadn't talked about this ahead of time—hell, Dean's never even been into that chains-and-whips BDSM stuff. What's gotten into him?

But Cas doesn't even ungag himself before stepping forward and putting his arms around Dean's middle, and what did Dean ever do to deserve this trust?

Dean feels Cas's arm behind him, reaching up to pull the tie out of his mouth. "You still have three weeks with him," Cas says, and Dean's eyes widen, because is he _seriously_ thinking about Dean's problem with Sam right now? "Just… talk to him. Okay? Make the most of the time you've got left before he goes off for that internship."

Dean sighs, head dropping down to rest on Cas's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, fine. I…" guilt seems to clog his throat, and he coughs once and starts to back off. "Sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Hey," Cas interrupts, grabbing Dean's wrist before he can pull away, "it's fine. I… rather enjoyed it."

It takes a second for the words to register, and then Dean's lips curl into a smirk even as he huffs a sigh of relief—seriously, he must have been a saint in his last life or something. "Yeah?" he breathes into Cas's ear, not missing the way Cas leans toward his mouth, "Good to know."

* * *

A light knock on the door makes Castiel look up. "Hello, Sam. What can I do for you?" Sam isn't in any of the classes Castiel is TA-ing for this semester, so Castiel isn't sure what he wants.

"You, uh." Sam stops, smiles. "Thanks, man."

Castiel returns the smile, pleased that Dean did as he was told. "You're welcome."

"Seriously, though. I've been waiting to have that conversation since I got the acceptance letter. How'd you even—never mind, it doesn't matter. Just, thanks. I appreciate it."

"It was the least I could do."

"You know, I… I was worried about what Dean would do without me or Dad around. I mean, it's not that he doesn't have friends. He's just not good at being alone. But he's got you, so I'm not so worried anymore."

"Well. I'm glad my presence is reassuring."

Sam frowns suddenly. "Are _you_ okay, though?"

Castiel nods. "Of course."

"Are you ever gonna tell him?"

"Not if I can help it."

Sam isn't happy with this response, but Castiel knows that Sam will never approve of the way that Castiel's been suppressing his emotions. He's just thankful that Sam has agreed not to tell Dean about it.

"I appreciate your discretion," Castiel says.

Sam shakes his head. "Yeah, it's your decision. Your emotions, your decision. I just think—"

"I know what you think, Sam. Thank you for your concern, but it's unnecessary."

"All right, well. I just wanted to stop by and say thanks. And invite you to dinner, if you've got time. Jess is cooking, and she wants an unbiased opinion."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, tonight."

"Dean and I were planning to—"

"Oh, Dean knows already," Sam interrupts. "He's coming, too."

Castiel smiles. "What time, then?"

"Six thirty, if that works for you."

"It's fine. Should I bring anything?" Castiel asks.

"No. You never let us bring anything when you're making dinner, so same rules apply."

"Very well."

Castiel hears footsteps approaching from down the hall, and then a hand appears from behind Sam to tap on his shoulder. Sam jerks, startled, and turns.

"Sorry!" the kid—he looks familiar, but Castiel can't remember his name, _shit_—says.

"Oh, it's fine," Sam's saying as Castiel runs through names in his head. Barry, Baron, Brandon…? "It's your office hours right now, isn't it?" Sam asks, and Castiel nods. "For which class?"

"Ethics Concerning Ancient Artifacts," Castiel answers.

"Oh," Sam says, smiling. He turns to the kid—Braden?—to say, "I took that class with Cas last semester. He's the best."

Castiel shakes his head. "As much as I'd like to take credit for your performance, we both know it was all you, Sam."

Sam opens his mouth, no doubt to say something self-deprecating and humble, but the kid—Brady! Yes, that's his name—speaks first. "Sam? As in Sam Winchester?"

Sam blinks, surprised. "Err… yeah. What—"

"Professor Masters won't shut up about you," Brady says, tilting his head back slightly to stare up at Sam. "She says you're the only student she's ever given perfect marks to."

Sam's blushing a little now. "You know, I owe it all to Cas," he says, and Castiel shakes his head. "It's true," Sam insists. "Listen to everything he says, and you'll do great."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll definitely do that," Brady says. "You're graduating this semester right?" Sam nods, and Brady asks, "What're you doing afterwards?"

Castiel clears his throat. "Brady, I assume you're here with a question?"

"Right," Brady says, nodding. "I'll see you around, Sam."

"Yeah, see you."

As Brady enters Castiel's office, Sam mouths a quick 'thank you' to Castiel, who smiles in response. "See you tonight, Sam," he says.

"Yep. Bye, Cas."

Sam walks away, and Brady asks, "What's tonight?"

"None of your business," Castiel says with a smile. "Now, what can I do for you?"


	28. The Outsiders

**A/N:** It's about time we got a look at Dean and Cas from the outside.

**XXVIII. The Outsiders**

"I think I could get used to this," Jess says, rolling up her yoga mat.

Behind her, Sam laughs. "Yeah, you'd better," he says, pulling her into his arms and kissing her neck. "I might not let you go, even if you do get cold feet."

Jess turns around in his embrace and shoves the yoga mat into his chest, forcing him to take it from her. "As if I couldn't get away from you, if I really wanted to," she responds, skipping past Sam and out of the upstairs lounge. She goes downstairs, perfectly aware of Sam following her down the whole way.

"I guess I should count myself lucky that you don't want to, then," Sam says as they reach the bottom of the steps and head for the kitchen.

Jess pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge and frowns—she isn't exactly sure where she left her bag, but she thinks it might be in the downstairs living room. "Oh, shut up," she says when she sees Sam smiling down at her.

"I didn't say a thing," Sam says mock-innocently, and Jess snatches the yoga mat from him before leaving the kitchen. "Hey, not one word passed between these lips," Sam continues, following Jess into the downstairs living room where, as she'd guessed, her gym bag is.

"Hey," Dean says from his seat on the couch—he's watching TV, as usual.

Jess nods to acknowledge Dean but turns to address Sam instead. "You forget that I can read your mind," she says, dropping the water bottle into her bag and quickly checking to make sure everything's there.

"Oh right, of course," Sam says, clearly entertained.

Jess brushes past him. "I'm gonna be late."

"It's yoga, Jess, not boot camp."

"Yeah, but I'd rather not be late," Jess says, rolling her eyes. She passes by the dining room on the way to the front door and smiles at Cas, who's looking down at a dirty plate on the dining table that seems to have been left there from lunch. It's not exactly hard to guess who left it there.

"Dean!" Cas barks, and Jess laughs and wishes she had enough time to stick around for this.

"What?" Dean calls back, and above the sound of her own and Sam's footsteps, Jess hears Dean coming toward the dining room.

"When are you ever gonna start cleaning up after yourself?"

"Dude, that's what I've got you for," Dean says in a lower voice, which means he must have reached the dining room.

Sam takes a few quick strides with his ridiculously long legs to beat Jess to the door and pull it open for her, mock-bowing as she passes by him. She can't stop a small giggle from coming out of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Cas says to Dean, "Do I _look_ like your housekeeper?"

"Cas! Keep that up, and you'll be well on your way to becoming Mrs. Hudson!" Sam shouts from the doorway, grinning. Jess looks up at Sam's warm, brown eyes, glittering with amusement, and feels so lucky that she gets to have him as her fiancé—_fiancé!_ God, she just can't get enough of the way that sounds in her head.

"Dean, pick that up," Jess hears faintly in Cas's low rumble, and then, louder, "Better Mrs. Hudson than the Abominable Snowman, Sam!"

"God, isn't that ever gonna get old?" Sam grouses, and Jess laughs, grabbing his shoulders as leverage to get a goodbye kiss.

"Goodbye, Snowman," she says with a wide smile.

Sam pouts at her halfheartedly, and she hurries down the driveway to her car, a sensible Toyota Camry parked behind Cas's junker—with Dean's love of cars, Jess is surprised he lets Cas drive that poor excuse for a car. Behind the wheel, Jess looks back at the front door and waves when she sees Sam still standing there. Then she starts the car and backs down the long driveway to the street.

As she waits for a car to pass so that she can get onto the road, she looks up at the sprawling mansion before her and sighs. She can't get used to living in this giant place—it's not something she likes. But it's only temporary, so she supposes it's all right. She's only staying here while Sam's home for summer break—he's just finished his second year of law school, and he'll be flying back out to Palo Alto in the fall.

On the short drive to the studio, Jess considers taking Sam up on his offer. At the beginning of the summer, when he'd proposed, Sam had asked her to come to California for the next two years while he finished his degree. She'd told him that she'd think about it, and she's decided that she can do it, but only if he actually plans to stay there afterwards. If Sam's going to come back to Lawrence, Jess would much rather just stay here and wait for him to get back. Her friends, her family, her job, her entire _life_ is here, and she doesn't want to uproot herself if she'll be coming right back in two years…

She pulls into the familiar parking lot and gets out of the car, bag and yoga mat in tow. A few minutes later, she's entering the mirrored room and going to her place at the front. Six of the regulars are already here, along with several new faces.

"Jess," Lisa says, smiling.

"Oh Lisa, you didn't have to get up," Jess says, going over to get a hug.

"I'm not even that pregnant yet," Lisa says indignantly. "Only four months! The only reason I'm not teaching the class myself is because my boss is worried about a silly little thing called _liability_."

"It may be a silly little thing to you, but you know it's important," Jess replies, coaxing Lisa back into her seat. "Besides, I'm sure Matt appreciates you being more careful with yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, why is it that you're so annoyingly mature?"

"Because I'm an adult, and you're obviously not," Jess says, arching an eyebrow.

Lisa laughs. "Oh right, did you double check with Cas for me? I tried calling him again this morning, but he didn't pick up."

"Yeah, you guys are still on for dinner tonight. Cas—or Dean—" Jess rolls her eyes as she remembers the loud but thankfully brief dispute Dean and Cas had had over who was responsible for the grievous loss of Cas's phone, "—_one_ of them accidentally dropped Cas's phone in the toilet."

"Of course," Lisa says, shaking her head. "Well, I'll bet it was Dean's fault."

"That's what I said," Jess agrees.

As she steps back over to her bag and unrolls her mat, she thinks about the relationship between Dean and Cas. Sam had told her a long time ago about the one-sidedness of that relationship, and she'd thought it extremely unhealthy. Jess admitted to Sam that she'd sort of thought a bit worse of Dean for allowing such an unbalanced situation and never noticing it.

When conflict arose between them, she'd thought that it was all for the best, because Cas didn't deserve all the pain of unrequited feelings. But it's been a little over two years—really, has it been that long?—since they had that fight, and looking at them now, she can't imagine a sweeter couple.

Sitting cross-legged on her yoga mat, Jess just feels lucky that her own feelings toward Sam are returned and that she didn't have to go through that kind of turmoil with him—she doesn't know what she'd do if she lost that dopey giant.

Then Lisa claps her hands to get everyone's attention, and Jess clears her mind, reaching for inner peace.

* * *

Yoga classes are a drag now, because Lisa's not allowed to actually do any of the exercises herself. God, the boredom could kill her. She talks everyone through the positions, telling her students to watch Jess and Tessa if they get confused, because those two have excellent form.

After class, Lisa waits for everyone to leave before going out to her car and getting in. The drive to the restaurant takes about five minutes, and then Lisa's pulling into Yokohama Sushi. As Lisa gets out of the car, her cell phone rings, and she pulls it out with a huff of annoyance, expecting it to be Anna or Cas, calling to complain about how late she is. But the caller ID says Katie, so Lisa picks up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Mills," Katie says.

"Lisa, please," Lisa reminds her. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, sort of. I was wondering where you keep the uh, cleaning supplies. Ben was poking around in the fridge and accidentally knocked over a bowl of marinating—"

"Oh," Lisa says with a sigh—there goes tomorrow's dinner. "There's raw meat all over the floor now, isn't there?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, there should be some bleach in the cupboard under the sink," Lisa says, swinging the car door shut. "The rubber gloves should be in a little tub with the sponges, next to the bleach." She faintly hears a cupboard door opening. "Ben's fine, I take it."

"Yeah, he's fine. Some of the sauce got on his shirt so I took it off and sent him upstairs for a shower."

"Great. Thanks, Katie. I'll see you in a few hours."

"No problem, Lisa. Bye."

"Bye."

A minute later, Lisa enters the restaurant and looks around—according to the text she received toward the end of class, Anna had been saving a table, but Cas hadn't gotten there yet.

"Lisa, over here!"

Lisa turns to her right and sees Anna waving her arms. She makes her way over to the table. "Anna, hey," she says when Anna gets up to give her a hug. "Where's Cas?"

"He should be here any minute now," Anna answers as they take their seats. She looks at Lisa and smiles as she says, "Aw, you look like you're coming along well."

"If only you could've reacted this way when I was carrying Ben," Lisa says, flipping open the menu.

"That was quite a few years ago, and you know what, I still stand by my belief that that was _way_ too early for you to be having a kid," Anna says.

Lisa rolls her eyes. "Well obviously, I was ready for it. Ben's turning out great."

"I'm sure he is. It's been such a long time since I last saw him," Anna says.

"That's because you never stop by the house," Lisa replies. "You know what, you should move back into town. Cas sees Ben all the time."

"Did I just hear my name?" Cas says from behind Lisa, and she looks over her shoulder just as he reaches their table. She starts to get to her feet, but Cas's hands land on her shoulders—"No, don't get up," he says, moving to the side and leaning down to hug her.

Lisa rolls her eyes when Cas has backed up far enough to see her. "Everyone keeps treating me like I'm a delicate flower or something. I'm not even that pregnant yet."

"Better safe than sorry," Anna says.

As Cas sits down across from Anna, Lisa comments, "Always the mom, Anna."

"Except that you're the actual mom," Anna responds. Then she says to Cas, "I hear that you get to see Ben all the time."

Cas smiles. "Of course. Lisa drops him off at my office sometimes. He likes drawing on the chalkboard, but he's a terrible distraction during office hours. The students love him."

"Uncle Cas is his favorite," Lisa says, smiling.

Anna's smile turns a little wistful, and Lisa wishes she could slap some sense into her friend. But Anna says she's comfortable where she is, and besides, she's in a small enough community that she's sort of become a leader figure, and if she leaves, she'd end up worrying about how the town would hold up without her.

The waiter comes then and asks if they'd like anything to drink.

"Just water, please," Cas says.

"For all of you?" the waiter—Alfie, according to the nametag—asks.

"Yes," Cas replies.

"All right. And are you ready to order?"

"Just a few more minutes," Lisa says.

"Of course. I'll be right back with your waters," Alfie says before departing.

"Y'know, I would've appreciated a little wine," Anna says. "Lisa might not be allowed to drink, but I'm not pregnant."

"No, but you're the one who's gonna be driving me home," Cas says.

"What, you didn't drive here? I thought your car was out of the shop," Lisa says.

"I picked it up from Bobby's yesterday, but it broke down when I was leaving the house," Cas answers. "I wasn't even out of the driveway yet."

Lisa bursts into laughter, and Anna says, "Are you _sure_ you shouldn't be switching to a new car?"

"You both know how much Dean hates that car!" Cas says indignantly.

"What are you implying, that Dean _sabotaged_ your car?" Anna says. "I really don't think it's worth that amount of trouble, Cas."

"I saw him fiddling around under the hood when I was coming out of the house. He said he was just putting some coolant in, but now, I'm not so sure," Cas says, and he sounds sulky, which is so unlike him that Lisa goes right back to laughing.

"Maybe he's worried about your safety and doesn't want you driving across town in that pile of junk. Come on, Cas, that car's probably older than your dad," Anna says.

"It's really not." Before Anna can respond, Cas says, "We should probably take a look at the menu."

"I already know what I'm going to order," Lisa says—she's been here enough times that she knows what her favorite menu item is.

"Waiting on you, then, Cas," Anna says.

"Give me a minute," Cas says, hiding behind his menu.

Lisa looks at Anna. "So, Cas told me that you've been writing. What are you working on?"

Anna shrugs. "A novel," she says evasively.

"Oh, come _on_. You've gotta give me more than that. I bet Cas knows all about it," Lisa says. The fact that Cas remains silent just means that Lisa's right.

"You'll see if it ever gets published," Anna says.

"Why does Cas get to know while I don't?" Lisa asks.

"Because Cas is helping me with my writing. You've never been that great at writing," Anna says bluntly.

"Ouch."

"It's true."

"I know," Lisa says, because it _is_ true. She's never liked anything remotely academic, and the only reason she went to college was because her parents expected it of her. "Anyway," she says, "can you at least give me a genre? Is it fiction or nonfiction?"

"Fiction," Anna says reluctantly.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Tell me more," Lisa says, smiling.

"Don't push it, Lisa."

Then Alfie's back with three glasses of iced water. "Are you ready to order?" he asks, setting the glasses down in front of them. He places two small bowl on the table—one contains edamame, and the other is empty—and looks at them expectantly.

"Yes," Cas says, putting down his menu. "I'll have combo A."

"And would you like tuna or salmon?" Alfie asks.

"Tuna."

Alfie nods, scribbling quickly on his notepad before turning his attention to Lisa.

"The chirashi bowl, please," she says.

"And I'll have the tempura udon," Anna says.

"Will that be all?" Alfie asks as he takes the menus.

"Yes, thank you," Lisa replies, and Alfie leaves the table with a smile.

Cas picks up a pod and eats the beans inside, discarding the empty pod in the empty bowl.

"I take it you still don't like edamame?" Anna says, reaching over to take a pod.

Lisa shakes her head. "I didn't like it in the past, and I'm not gonna like it in the future," she says, looking at the small, lumpy, green _things_ with distaste. "And you two are not gonna convince me to try another one. I'm pregnant, so I get to do what I want."

Cas squints at Lisa. "I'm fairly certain that's not how this works," he says, a hint of a smile playing about his lips.

"Just be happy that I'm not eating them, all right? More for the two of you," Lisa says.

"She makes a good argument," Cas says to Anna, grinning.

"Okay, enough about the beans. Anna, are you free next weekend?" Lisa asks.

"I'm… not sure. It depends. Why, did you have anything in mind?" Anna asks.

"Dude," Lisa says, looking at Cas with her eyebrows raised.

"What?" Anna asks in an irritated tone.

"I thought you were supposed to be good with birthdays," Lisa says.

Anna stares at her for a moment before gasping. "Oh my god, I forgot!" she exclaims. "Ben! How old is he gonna be now, eight?"

"Yep, eight," Lisa says, unable to hold back her smile.

"I'll do whatever I can to make it, then. What time is his party?"

"Well, the plan is to let the kids play all afternoon and cut the cake around five, so that the sugar high will wear off right around bedtime," Lisa answers. "So as long as you show up around three or four, it should be fine."

"And you'll get to see the rest of us," Cas says. "Sam and Jess are going to be there, and Jo said that she would come as well. Victor might not make it, though."

"It's been a while," Anna says quietly.

"Anyway, there'll be a bounce house out back. When the kids are done playing, we could get in there and have a little fun ourselves," Lisa says jokingly.

"Now I _really_ have to go," Anna says, rolling her eyes. "So will Matt be back in town by then?"

"Yes. His convention ends tomorrow night, so he'll be flying back Monday morning," Lisa says.

It'll be nice. Matt's been gone for just over a week, and she doesn't like it when he's gone. Ben's been wonderful, though—two nights ago, he crawled into Lisa's bed and whispered, _Mommy, don't be sad. Matt will be back soon_.

"That should be nice," Cas says, interrupting Lisa's thoughts. Then he says to Anna, "Is there anyone new in your life?"

"No," Anna says, but she hesitates for just a second.

"Hold up," Lisa says. "Did you just lie to us?"

"No, of course not," Anna insists. Lisa and Cas exchange glances before both turning to stare at Anna. Sure enough, Anna breaks after maybe thirty seconds. "Okay, maybe someone might have caught my eye." Lisa crows in victory and high-fives Cas even as Anna continues hurriedly, "But it isn't—nothing's happened yet!"

"Dude, it's about time you got back out there, Anna," Lisa says, smiling broadly.

"I'm not exactly 'out there' just yet," Anna clarifies.

"It's enough that you're looking at other people, though," Lisa says.

She catches the brief silent exchange between Cas and Anna and knows that they must be thinking about Dean. Lisa's not stupid—she knows that Anna felt strongly about Dean, that she might _still_ have feelings for him. But it's easier if Lisa acts ignorant about it, because Anna doesn't seem to want to share this information, and well, Cas seems to have it all under control. Less drama for Lisa is always a good thing.

Lisa can't help wondering whether or not it's awkward for Cas, though. She's seen the way Dean and Cas are around each other, and Dean really has changed a lot since he and Cas started officially dating. Lisa loves to joke around and say that Cas was the best thing that ever happened to Dean, but to be perfectly honest, she sort of actually believes that. Dean is a lot more open now, and while he's not exactly the poster boy for emotional health, he's certainly come a long way from the emotionally handicapped guy he used to be.

And Cas… Lisa looks over at him and figures that despite how long it took for their relationship to get sorted out, Dean's been good for Cas, too—Cas smiles a lot more than he used to.

"What does he do for a living?" Cas asks Anna.

"He's a uh, a lawyer," Anna says.

"Lawyer, really?" Cas says. "I'd think your town wouldn't even have need of lawyers."

"Well, he's been talking about moving to a bigger city. I suggested Kansas City, but he's actually more interested in coming to Lawrence."

"Hey, that's perfect!" Lisa says. "Then you can come with him, and we can meet the guy."

"Lisa, I already said that nothing has happened between us. We're just friends," Anna says.

"For now," Cas says.

Anna sends a huge fake smile in Cas's direction and says, "Ha, ha, very funny," and Lisa laughs.

* * *

It's still pretty early in the night when they split up to go their separate ways—Ben's babysitter, Katie, has a curfew and has to be home by nine, which means Lisa needs to get home before then. As Cas gets in the passenger seat, Anna starts the car and turns on the headlights.

"Need to stop anywhere before going home?" Anna asks.

Cas shakes his head and buckles his seatbelt. "I think we're fine on groceries," he says.

"How is it, having Sam and Jess living with you?"

"Not bad. It isn't as though we don't have enough space," Cas answers.

"So who does most of the cooking? I'm guessing you and Jess."

Cas smiles. "Sam helps out, too. Dean's typically too lazy, but when we can convince him to cook, he takes control over the kitchen and kicks the rest of us out."

Anna laughs, because she's experienced Dean's cooking. When he's feeling lazy, he sticks with things that are either microwavable or easy to heat up on a stove, but when he puts effort into cooking, he's actually really good. He'd cooked for her a few times during their relationship, and the food was always excellent. But Anna stops before she can think any further in that direction, because that only leads to discomfort and pain.

"I suppose it's nice to have Sam and Jess there with us," Cas continues. "I don't know how Dean managed to live there all by himself for such a long time. The house is beautiful, but it's so empty. Even when there are five of us, it feels far too big."

"I remember looking at the outside and worrying I'd get lost in there," Anna comments. After a pause, she asks, "Are Sam and Jess gonna stay there after they get hitched?"

Cas shakes his head. "I'm fairly certain Jess wants to live in a smaller space. Hell, I think I'd be more comfortable in a smaller space too, but I know Dean doesn't really want to move."

Cas falls silent, and Anna isn't positive what exactly he's thinking, but he's talked to her about this a little bit in the past, and she knows it has to do with John Winchester. In her time with Dean, she'd only met the man once, briefly, and the meeting hadn't left the best impression on her. He seemed difficult to get along with, hardened by loss and loneliness. But she has a hard time sympathizing with him, because his loneliness is self-inflicted. He pulled away from Sam and Dean, not the other way around.

After a pause, Cas changes the subject and asks, "Why are you so against sharing your work with Lisa? I think it's very interesting. I showed Sam a sample of it, and he wants to read more."

"Does he really?" Anna says, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes. I told him that I'd double check with you before giving him the rest of it."

"So you really think it's a good idea," Anna says.

"Of course," Cas says. "I wouldn't lie to you to spare your feelings—you should know that."

"Yes, I do know that. You're very reliable in that respect," Anna answers.

"Now, answer my question—why won't you let Lisa read what you've written?"

"For the reason I gave at dinner," Anna says.

"Partly, perhaps," Cas concedes. "But Lisa would be able to give some input about the content at least, so that can't be the only reason."

"Can you just let me decide who can read my work?"

Cas nods and falls silent. The rest of the drive passes by quickly, and a few minutes later, Anna's pulling up on the street in front of the mansion.

"You should come inside for a while," Cas says as he undoes his seatbelt.

"No, I really should be heading home. It's a pretty long drive back."

"You can spare another half hour or so," Cas insists. "Besides, I'm sure Sam would love to discuss your writing with you."

Anna contemplates just leaving—it's not as though Cas can _force_ her to stay—but it really has been a long time since she last saw the Winchesters, and it'll be nice to catch up a bit. "All right, but only for a little while," she says.

She cuts the engine as Cas gets out of the car, and they walk up the long driveway together.

"Do you know which courses you're teaching the coming semester?" Anna asks.

"Yeah," Cas answers. "They have me down for both Anthro and Linear Algebra next semester."

"Oh, really? I thought you told them not to give you any more math."

Cas shrugs. "We have enough Anthro professors and a shortage of math professors. I can teach math all right—I just don't like it much."

They reach the front door, and Cas lets them in.

"Cas, that you?" Dean calls from within.

"Yep!" Cas responds, shutting the door behind them. "And I've got Anna with me!"

"Hey, Anna," Dean says as he walks into the entrance hall. It's been a while since Anna last saw him, but he looks the same, except… happier.

"Dean," she answers, accepting his embrace with a smile.

"How's it going? Cas tells me you've been writing."

Anna turns to Cas with a sigh. "Do you just tell this to everyone, then?"

"I already showed some of it to Sam—did you honestly expect that I'd have kept it from Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas and I have no secrets," Dean says. "Besides, Cas sucks at lying."

"I don't know, Dean. He kept his emotions hidden from you for a pretty long time without you noticing," Anna points out.

"Yeah well, I figured it out in the end, didn't I?"

"Actually…" Cas starts.

"No, no," Anna interrupts. "Please, Dean, tell us how you worked it out."

"Yes, was it before or after Sam told you?" Cas says.

Dean thrusts both hands up in the air and stalks out of the room. "Can't get any justice in this house!" he complains loudly.

Laughing, Cas and Anna follow him down the hall and into the kitchen, where he opens the fridge and pulls out three beers.

"I can't have much to drink," Anna warns as she takes a bottle from Dean. "I still have to drive home."

"Well hey, we've got plenty of spare rooms upstairs. Worst case scenario, you could just stay over tonight," Dean says.

"Nah, there's a town council meeting tomorrow that I can't miss."

"I'm sure they could go without you for one meeting, Anna," Dean says.

"Then I don't _want_ to miss it."

"Yes, there's someone in particular whom Anna does not want to miss," Cas says, dodging the punch that Anna aims his way.

Dean whistles. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

Cas is hiding behind Dean now, so Anna settles for giving him the evil eye. "Nobody," she answers.

Before Dean or Cas can comment, Sam enters the room. "Dean, have you seen my—" he stops, taking in Anna's presence. "Oh, hey," he says with a smile. "You haven't come over in a long time."

"It's been a while, Sam," Anna replies, relieved by the distraction. "You always seem taller than I remember, every time I see you. You're not _still_ growing, are you?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, great, another joke about my height. I'm not tired of those at all."

Anna laughs. "Is Jess over?"

"She had dinner with her folks tonight, but she should be coming back soon."

"Nice," Anna says. She glances back in Dean and Cas's direction and sees that they're standing side by side, Dean's hand curled around Cas's waist, his head turned toward Cas's. Cas doesn't blush easily—not anymore, at least—but whatever Dean's whispering in his ear has a tint rising in his cheeks, and Anna clears her throat pointedly.

Dean lets out a long-suffering sigh and says, "Just shut up and enjoy your beer, would you?"

"Hey, I'm a guest here. You should be nice to me," Anna says. "Sam, back me up."

"Mm, I don't know, Anna. The first thing you did when you saw me was comment on my height, and you know how I feel about that."

"Oh, you're no help," Anna says.

Sam shrugs. "You be nice to me, and I'll reciprocate."

"Anyway," Dean says, "Sam, you were looking for something?"

"Right, yeah. I was looking for my sleeping bag."

"Why do you need _that?_" Dean asks.

"Jess and I were thinking about going camping," Sam answers.

"Oh, that sounds so fun!" Anna says. "I haven't gone hunting in years."

"We won't be hunting, but yeah, it's been a while since we last went," Sam says, looking at Dean.

"Which of you is the better shot?" Anna asks.

"I am, obviously," Dean says.

Cas snorts. "Dean, _I_ could probably shoot straighter than you could."

"You wanna bet on it?"

"What, do you think I'm scared of you? Sure, I'll bet on it."

"Okay, lovebirds. Put the shooting contest on the backburner," Sam says. "Any idea where my sleeping bag is, Cas?"

"Adam borrowed it, remember?" Cas says.

"Oh, I'd forgotten," Sam says, frowning. "Dean, can I—"

"No," Dean says before Sam and finish asking his question.

"Jerk," Sam complains.

"Bitch," Dean responds, playfully pushing past Sam and exiting the kitchen.

Anna follows Dean out, and behind her she hears Cas telling Sam, "Don't worry, I'll get his sleeping bag for you. When are you two planning to go?"

"Not sure yet," Sam says as they head down the hall.

The four of them settle on the couches in the downstairs living room. Dean reaches for the remote, but Cas snatches it up before Dean can.

"Why does Adam have Sam's sleeping bag?" Anna asks, taking a drink from her bottle. "Did you guys kick him out of his room?"

"Ha, ha, very funny," Dean says. "He's at summer camp right now."

"Oh, I see. That sounds good for him," Anna says.

"I think it will be," Sam agrees. "I always wanted to go to summer camp when I was a kid."

"Yeah, 'cause you're a nerd," Dean says, and Anna notices that his head is turned toward Sam, but he's watching Cas out of the corner of his eye.

Sam smiles. "You say that as though it's a bad thing."

As Sam finishes speaking, Dean's hand darts out for the remote, but Cas is prepared for him and thrusts it at Sam.

"Oh, come _on_," Dean says.

"You watch too much television," Cas says.

"Yeah—aren't we enough entertainment for you?" Sam says.

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffs. "You guys are boring."

"Well that's insulting," Anna says. "Maybe I should just go."

"You only just sat down," Cas protests as Dean says, "Go on ahead. I don't need you here," and Sam just laughs.

"Talk about mixed signals," Anna comments. She looks up at the clock on the wall and says, "I really do need to go, though. I have an early morning tomorrow, and it'll take me three hours to drive home, at least."

Cas actually pouts at that, and Anna can't stop herself from bursting into laughter—that expression just doesn't belong on his face. She's quickly joined by Sam and Dean, and Cas just sighs.

"And you all wonder why I'm so reluctant to make my emotions more visible," he says.

Dean throws an arm around Cas's shoulders and tugs him into his side, grinning. Anna instinctively braces herself for the inevitable pain that comes when Dean and Cas are particularly affectionate with each other, but it doesn't come.

"You okay?" Cas asks, frowning at her.

Anna smiles. "Yes, I'm fine," she says, and for the first time in a long time, she _means_ it. And judging by the way that Cas's brow smooths out at her response, he knows it. She gets to her feet, and the guys stand with her. "I'm gonna go, now," she says. "It was nice to see you both again."

"Oh, so it wasn't nice to see me," Cas says, mock-hurt coloring his tone.

"I see you a whole lot more than I see these two lumps," Anna says, leaning into first Sam's arms and then Dean's.

"I feel so unappreciated now," Cas says, but he's smiling and backing out of the living room.

Sam, Dean, and Cas walk Anna to the front door, and she coaxes a hug out of Cas before finally taking her leave and heading down the long driveway.

Anna tilts her head back to look up at the stars as she walks. She must finally be over Dean, she decides with a smile. She doesn't remember the last time she felt sincerely happy for them—there have been rare moments over the past two years or so, but most of the time her thoughts of them were tainted with bitterness and envy, and it's so refreshing to be able to think of them now without those emotions in the way.

She recalls their interactions tonight and doesn't remember ever feeling that uncomfortable twinge in her chest. She thinks of the way they looked at each other, the way they moved in harmony, so in-tune with each other that their hearts may as well have been beating as one, and she is truly and honestly happy for them.

Anna's smile widens to the point that she feels silly—a weight has just been lifted off her chest, and she feels giddy and pleased.

As she reaches the street, she catches sight of a familiar car, an expensive European sports car that she hasn't seen for a very long time. And then she realizes that the driver's sitting inside, and that she recognizes him.

Anna catches his eye, and he lowers the window closer to her as she approaches. "Balthazar, right?" she says when she's sure she can speak and be heard.

He smiles. "Yes. Now, are you Anna or Lisa?"

"Anna." She hesitates for a moment before asking, "What are you doing out here?" Balthazar opens his mouth to answer, but Anna cuts him off before he can. "Never mind—it's none of my business."

"I suppose it's not."

Anna considers leaving it at that, but she can't resist saying a little more. "You know, you _can_ go visit. I'm sure Cas would be happy to see you."

"I… I know. Thank you, Anna," Balthazar says.

"You're welcome," she says. After a pause, she adds, "Good night."

"Good night," he responds.

Anna straightens and walks back in the opposite direction, toward where she parked her car. She recognized the pain that had flashed in his eyes when she'd mentioned Cas, and she wonders how deeply he loved—loves?—Cas, how he managed to fall so deep, so quick.

It occurs to her that she was standing right where he is now not long ago, that it had hurt so much to see Dean so happy with another person. And she hopes that Balthazar won't take as long as she did to come to his senses. She's almost positive that he'll do better than she did—from what Cas told her about him, he doesn't even seem the type to fall deeply in love.

And yet…

Anna gets behind the wheel of her car and lets out a soft sigh. In the rearview mirror, she can still see Balthazar's car parked by the side of the road, and she can still faintly make out his figure in the driver's seat. She considers giving Cas a call to tell him to come outside, but it's not her choice to make.

She starts the car and drives away.

* * *

Balthazar watches as Anna walks down the street to her car and waits for a few minutes before getting out of his car.

It's been just over two years since things ended between him and Cas, practically before they even had a chance to start, and since it had been summer, the end of a school year, it had been convenient for him to just slip out of town, make a few empty promises to call, and disappear off the map. He's spent the time since just traveling around the States, taking jobs for a few months here and there.

Now he's finally planning to go back to England, and all he wants is to see Cas again.

He caught a glimpse of Anna and Cas going into the mansion earlier, and he could see that Cas is happy and well, and that should be enough for him, but… it isn't.

So he makes his way up the long driveway and up to the front door, hesitates only for a few seconds before knocking—he's never been an indecisive person, and once he's made up his mind to do something, he follows through.

But when the door swings open, Dean's the one standing in the doorway. He stares for a moment, uncomprehending, before saying, "You."

"Hello, Dean," Balthazar says, and he even manages to tack a smile onto the end.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Balthazar is regretting his decision to come when he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, Cas's voice travels over from inside the house.

"Dean, who's at the—" and then Cas's head appears over Dean's shoulder, and he exclaims, "Balthazar!"

Dean steps to the side, and Cas lunges at Balthazar, arms wrapping tightly around him in a bear hug, something Balthazar wasn't even aware that Cas did in the past. Cas claps him twice on the back before pulling away, eyes bright.

"You said you'd call, you liar. Come on in," he says.

But Balthazar shakes his head, because he doesn't know if he can handle that right now. "No, I… I can't. I've a flight to catch. I just wanted to stop by and uh, say hello, I suppose."

Cas frowns. "All right, so two years without a word, and now you plan to show up here and leave immediately, without even coming in?"

"Yes, exactly," Balthazar says.

"Just come in for a drink. You don't have to stay long," Dean says, and while Balthazar can tell that Dean doesn't like having him around, his invitation is sincere.

"I suppose I could stay for a drink," Balthazar relents, and Cas steps back to let him into the house.

"What have you been doing in all this time?" Cas asks as Dean closes the door.

Balthazar removes his shoes—Dean and Cas are walking around in socks, so he will follow suit. "I've just been traveling around the States," he answers.

"For the whole two years, you were traveling?" Cas says, brows raised.

"Not the entire time," Balthazar replies, following Cas down the hall. Dean walks a few steps behind them. "I stayed in a few places and took up jobs."

"What, for fun? It's not as though you would've needed them," Dean says.

Balthazar glances over his shoulder and says, "Well, do you need your job, Dean? Does it pay the bills for this place, or are you still living off your father's money?"

"Hey, I don't touch my dad's money. I just live here."

Balthazar is about to respond, but he notices a shift in Dean's expression from challenging to subdued, and he turns his head toward Cas in time to see Cas turning back to face forward. He may have missed their silent exchange, but Cas's desire to pass the evening in peace is clear.

"Tell me about the places you've been, then," Cas says as they enter a sitting room. Balthazar recognizes it as the room in which he'd spoken with Dean so long ago. Dean automatically drops down onto the couch, and Cas moves to sit next to him.

"Well, do you want a list?" Balthazar asks, taking a seat in the stuffed armchair where he'd sat last time.

"Just the highlights, please," Cas responds with a smile.

"Let's see… I stayed in Chicago for a few months and got a job at a pizza parlor."

Dean laughs. "_You_, waiting tables? I woulda liked to see that," he says.

"They allowed me to put toppings on some of the pizzas as well," Balthazar says, and this time Cas laughs too.

For the next hour, Balthazar regales Dean and Cas—and Sam, who joins them about ten minutes in—with tales of his travels. He stayed in Los Angeles for two weeks and managed to wheedle his way into the Golden Globes. Last year, he happened to be in San Francisco in time for Pride, so of course he'd attended that. And two weeks ago, Balthazar was in New York. He just happened to be passing through Central Park as _Avengers 2_ was being shot, so he is now an extra in a scene that might make it into the movie.

But eventually he looks at his watch and decides that it's about time to go.

"Oh, don't go," Cas says when Balthazar mentions that he should leave. "It's not as though you ever have anywhere important to be."

"I'm flying back to England, Cas. I'd say that counts as important—wouldn't you?"

"You can just move the flight back," Cas says. "Stay in town for a few nights. We can even arrange a get-together with our university friends—the ones that you got along with, at least."

Balthazar shakes his head. "My family is expecting me back," he says. "I don't want to disappoint them."

"You've already been gone for so long. They can last another few days without you," Cas reasons.

"I'm sure they can, but I've already given them my word," Balthazar says.

"Your word can't be worth that much to them anyway," Cas says teasingly. "You promised that you'd only be gone for a year, and now it's almost been three."

"Yes, and if I want my credibility to go up, I should probably keep my word this time."

Cas sighs. "Go on ahead, then. But you'd better actually call, this time," he says.

Balthazar stands, and the others get to their feet as well. "I will," he replies. "I'll make sure to keep you updated on my far less exciting adventures at the estate."

"I'm sure they'll be just as interesting," Cas says.

"Though I highly doubt he'll run into any Avengers there," Sam says.

Balthazar chuckles. "You don't have to walk me out," he says as he heads toward the hallway, and when he reaches it, he hears only one set of footsteps behind him.

"I'm glad that you're all right," Cas says as they come closer to the front door.

"I told you that I'd be fine."

"You don't have to hide your feelings from me," Cas says. "I know that it took… that it must have taken some strength to walk in here today, and I'm grateful that you were willing to do so."

"This is far too sentimental for me, or anyone, to take, Cas. Please, don't."

Cas smiles and pulls open the front door. "I'll leave it at that, then. Have a safe flight."

Balthazar steps into his shoes. "Thanks, Cas. If you're ever on the other side of the Atlantic, set aside some time to visit. I can show you around."

"I will keep that in mind," Cas says, and then he steps forward for a hug. "Goodbye, Balthazar."

Balthazar's voice softens as he responds, "Goodbye, Cas."

They separate, and Balthazar backs up two steps before turning around and walking briskly down the driveway. The front door closes a moment later, and Balthazar wishes he could be on the other side of it, or that Cas could be with him, out here. But it's far too late for that, and he's long accepted that Cas was never meant to be with him.

He's happy now, happier than Balthazar's ever seen him. He smiles far more than he used to, and Sam and Dean clearly treat him as a member of their family. This is probably the best ending Cas could have gotten, and deep down, Balthazar really is happy for him. It'll become easier with time.

He gets into his car and starts the engine, sets the GPS on his phone to the airport.

An hour and a half later, Balthazar walks through Kansas City International. He has another hour to kill before his flight—he'd been lying to get away from Cas and the Winchesters, and he's just grateful that Cas didn't see through him. Or maybe Cas knew. Cas has always been more perspicacious than average, and it's completely possible that he saw how much Balthazar wanted to leave and decided to let him go. It's a gracious move that befits Cas's personality.

He enters a bar, takes a seat at the counter, and orders a glass of scotch. As he waits, he glances at the man next to him. He's well-dressed, with a small briefcase at his side. Balthazar does a double-take when he sees the gold-lettered engraving in the fine black leather—_J. Winchester_.

He tries to suppress his curiosity—he knows more than a little about John Winchester from hearing Cas talk about him. He knows that Dean's old man hadn't visited in years because he was always too busy, always traveling between different headquarters, and that he was practically an absentee father. Seeing him here, now…

"Hello," Balthazar says, and the man turns, looks him over in an assessing way. "I couldn't help but notice the name on your luggage—are you Dean Winchester's father?"

"Yes, I am," John responds, brow furrowed. "Who's asking?"

"Oh, just a friend of a friend," Balthazar says. "I actually don't know him very well. I just—are you in town for long?"

A muscle twitches in John's jaw. "Not sure yet," he answers evenly.

"I don't mean to pry, but… do Sam and Dean even know you're in town?" Balthazar asks.

John hesitates, then seems to realize that the hesitation is already an answer in itself. "No," he admits. "I… haven't been back for a while."

"Well, I just came from the house—both boys are there, if you're planning to see them."

"That's hardly any of your business, is it?" John says gruffly.

"No, it's not," Balthazar says. He feels that that was a clear enough dismissal, but he can't resist adding, "The truth is, I came back into town to see someone, an old friend. I was so worried about how he would receive me that I… almost left without speaking to him. And now that I _have_ spoken to him, I know that I feel better than I did before."

"I don't need advice from you, stranger," John says, and Balthazar nods, holds his hands up in surrender.

"I know you don't. But it's there, regardless." The bartender puts Balthazar's drink down, and he picks it up. "It was nice to meet you, John."

John only nods in response, and Balthazar takes his drink and walks off to get a booth—there's a book he wants to start reading. It's still far too easy for him to imagine how Castiel would react—"Taking up reading for leisure now, hmm? Didn't know you had it in you," he'd say, smiling.

But Castiel's smiles belong to Dean, have always belonged to Dean, and Balthazar thinks that he might finally be okay with that.

* * *

John downs the rest of his whiskey and slaps a few bills down on the counter before picking up his briefcase and leaving. The stranger hadn't left his name, and when John looks in his direction, he sees the blond head bent down, engrossed in a book. Perhaps his attention didn't stay on John for long, but his words are persistent, refuse to be shaken off.

…_now that I have spoken to him, I know that I feel better than I did before._

John's felt empty for so long, and maybe, just maybe, finally seeing his sons will do him some good. He's thought about coming back so many times, but he's never been able to find the courage to actually drive down to the house. About eighteen months ago, he'd come here, only to lose his resolve at the last moment and board another flight right back to Orlando.

He leaves the airport in a rental car, and the drive to his old home feels far too short. In almost no time, he's pulling up in front of the mansion and getting out of the car. It's been over four years since he's seen the place, and the exterior doesn't seem to have changed a bit.

He spent the whole drive trying to think of something to say to the boys when he sees them, but as he walks up the driveway, he can't remember a thing. He knows that Sam ought to be home on summer break, and Dean never left. Besides, that stranger at the airport confirmed that both his sons were here. But he has no idea what he'll say to them. He abandoned them for so long, not even taking the time to see them in the past two years. He'd made brief phone calls on holidays and birthdays and anniversaries because it was easier to not think about Mary that way, and it's absolutely no excuse.

And then Dean had called about Adam, and John felt even less capable of returning home. He hardly even remembers Kate—it'd been a mistake, and Adam was proof of his lack of fidelity. It hurt to hear about Adam, and he didn't think he could face any of his sons.

He still doesn't feel prepared to see them, but it's about time.

When he knocks on the door, though, it opens to reveal an unexpected face.

"Mr. Winchester," the man says, blue eyes wide with surprise, and this face is familiar to John, but he can't quite place it.

Before he has time to try, he hears Dean's voice, unmistakable—"Dad?"

"Dean," John manages, and then Dean's right in front of him, eyes wide with disbelief. There's an instant of stillness in which John starts to think he shouldn't have come after all, and then Dean's stepping forward, arms wrapping around John and squeezing tight. John returns the hug gratefully.

Then Dean pushes away, looking at him in the dim light, and John gets a good look at the son he hasn't seen in years. He's visibly older—doing the math in his head, John realizes that Dean should be twenty-eight now. His jaw has squared out a bit since John last saw him, and his features seem harder, sharper.

But he still clearly sees Mary's shadow in the graceful arch of his eyebrows, the soft curve of his lips, the gentle slope of his nose, and he isn't surprised at all that it still hurts.

"Dad," Dean says, and his voice breaks a little. "What are you doing here? Did—is everything okay?"

John swallows and says, "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. I just… I was in town, and I thought I'd come see you boys while I was here. Is Sam here?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, nodding. He steps back to let John inside and shouts, "Sam!"

Sam's voice comes from farther inside the house—"Dude, I thought I told you we were going to sleep, Dean! Can't this wait 'til tomorrow?"

"No, you'd better get your ass down here!" Dean shouts before John can say anything.

"It's all right," John says. "I can see him tomorrow morning, if—I'll stay the night here, if you—"

"Stay," Dean says. He huffs a short laugh. "Hell, it's _your_ house, not ours."

Then they hear footsteps thundering down the stairs, and John turns after taking his shoes off and sees Sam stopping short at the sight of them, standing in the hall.

"Sam," John says, barely managing to smile. The look on Sam's face—disbelief, incomprehension, maybe anger—grates at John's confidence. The last time they spoke over the phone, more than two years ago, Sam had been so angry with him, and John hardly knows where they stand now. So he says, tentatively, "It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

Sam blinks a few times, shakes his head, and moves closer. John walks over and meets him in an embrace, and he'd imagined being shouted at, being cursed and railed against, and this reception is so much better than he could have expected.

"Too long," Sam answers, voice low and fervent.

They break apart, and John takes a moment to look at Sam as he did Dean. He was so tall the last time John saw him, but it seems like he's gotten even taller since then, and they're standing close enough together that John almost has to tip his head back a little to see his son's face. Sam seems to have aged more than Dean has—he'd looked so much younger, so much more innocent the last time John was home, and now it seems like he's grown up, grown into a man.

"Come on in," Dean says, leading the way down the hall.

John never spent much time in this house—he lived here for the first few years after buying it, but as soon as Sam went to college, John moved to the Miami headquarters and spent time traveling between different branches, making sure never to stay long at home. Because everything about Lawrence made him think of Mary, and the only escape he had was when he was immersed in work. Because every time he saw Dean's face, he saw Mary.

In the past few minutes, it's become clear that that still holds true. As they enter the living room, Dean and the other man—John thinks he recognizes him as the boy who'd come to a few Christmas dinners—sit down beside each other on one of the couches. John moves toward one of the armchairs.

"I'll be right back," Sam says, heading for the stairs, and John sits down.

"How is Jess?" John asks. He remembers Jess as a young blond girl, with bright eyes and a sweet smile, remembers that she used to come over often in the afternoons during Sam's high school years. The last time he asked Dean, Sam and Jess were still together, and he assumes that it is still true now.

"She's great," Dean answers. He shifts in his seat, moving closer to the man whose name John honestly cannot remember. Dean throws an arm around the dark-haired man, eyes defiant, and says, "Not sure if you remember him, but this is Cas." He provides no other explanation, just continues to stare John down.

"Yes, I remember him," John says, and now that he's heard the name, he does remember Cas as the scrawny kid who'd joined in on their Christmas dinners, quiet and respectful and a bit owlish with his wide, bright blue eyes.

Cas turns a tight-lipped smile in John's direction and says nothing. John wants to ask about the nature of Cas's relationship with Dean, but… well, who is he to judge his son's lifestyle? He's been gone for so long that he hardly has a right to question Dean's choices—he just wants to know that Dean is happy.

"So uh, why are you back in town?" Dean asks, distracting John from his train of thought.

"There was some business in the local office," John answers. It was nothing he couldn't have handled from his base in Orlando, but he'd needed to come home, and it feels wrong to make this about business now, especially when he sees the slip in Dean's expression that reveals some disappointment. So he admits, "I… I've been meaning to come back, but it's been difficult to… it's been difficult."

"I'm sure," Dean says, guarded.

John clears his throat and says, "Christ, it's hot in here for the middle of the night. Dean, don't we have an air conditioner installed?"

"Uh, yeah. Aren't you used to the heat? You've been living in Orlando," Dean says.

"Just turn the AC on, would you?"

"'Kay," Dean says suspiciously, getting to his feet and leaving the room. If John remembers correctly, the AC is three rooms over, in the downstairs study.

As soon as Dean is gone, John gets to his feet and looks pointedly at Cas before heading toward the kitchen. Sure enough, the dark-haired man understands John's unspoken request and follows him through the house. As they walk, John recalls the few times he met the boy, and he's sure that he never caught a romantic vibe in Cas and Dean's interactions before—he only remembers liking that the kid was honest and earnest and able to make his boys laugh.

When they're alone in the kitchen, John turns around, almost expecting the young man from four, five years ago to be standing in front of him. What he sees instead is Cas of the present, fixing an unwavering stare on him, with eyes that seem far wiser than his age suggests. Frankly, it's more than slightly unnerving. John's faced down CEOs with net worths large enough to rival small countries, yet he finds himself avoiding this thin man's eyes.

"Are you planning to give me the protective father talk?" he asks.

John lets out a sigh. "I know I have no right, not after all this time, but—"

"No. No, you really don't," Cas says softly, and John pauses, surprised that he'd say it straight out. Cas continues, louder now, "I know your reasons for leaving, and while I can understand your pain, I cannot say that it's all right. And I don't believe that I am more likely to hurt either of your sons than you are, so excuse me if I do not take your warning seriously."

John wants more than anything to snap back, because he's John Winchester, and he doesn't just lie back and take it. But this is about his sons, and he's clearly in the wrong. And no matter how much Cas might dislike him, John finds himself liking the kid even more than he did before, because he's either very brave or very naïve to be able to talk to the head of the Winchester empire like this, and when John thinks about it, brave and naïve suits Dean perfectly.

So he nods once at Cas and gives him a small smile. "Well spoken," he says.

Cas nods back. Then Dean's voice sails in from the other room—"Cas? Dad?"—and Cas turns to go.

But John speaks up, stopping him in his tracks. "Thank you," he says. "For taking care of him—of both of them."

Cas turns back around and says, "There's no need to thank me. They're family." But he offers up a smile this time, and John figures that they're all right.

Dean appears behind Cas and says, "What're you two doing in here?"

"I thought we could use some drinks," Cas says, walking past John and over to the refrigerator.

Dean eyes John suspiciously but doesn't comment as Cas takes out two bottles of beer and hands them to John. They emerge from the kitchen a minute later with one beer each, plus two extra for Sam and Jess.

"Hi Mr. Winchester," Jess says as they reenter the living room. "I'm Jess—not sure if you remember me."

"Of course I do," John says. "You were the one who helped Sam with math and physics—he never had a mind for science, not like Dean."

Jess laughs, and Sam looks surprised, as though it's news that John remembers things about him. It hurts to see that look on his face, and it's even worse to know that it's entirely John's fault for causing it.

"That's me, all right," Jess says, still smiling.

They all sit back down—John, Dean, and Cas take their original seats, and Jess and Sam take the smaller couch. John initially worries that they'll question him more about his motives for returning, but Dean doesn't bring it up again, and Sam doesn't mention it at all.

The conversation flows naturally, Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jess talking about what they've been doing in turn.

John learns that Jess graduated from KU Lawrence two years ago, spent a year getting a license, and just finished her first year teaching kindergarten. She's beautiful, smart, and everything that Sam deserves, and John's just grateful that they're happy together. When John notices the ring on Jess's finger, he can't resist asking about the engagement, how and when it happened, and when they plan on getting married. "Well, we're at least gonna wait 'til I'm outta law school," is Sam's response.

He learns about Cas's background, finds out that Cas is one of the youngest professors who's ever been hired by KU Lawrence—they pretty much took him right out of graduate school so that he transitioned from being a teacher's assistant to an actual teacher.

He hears about Stanford, about Sam's latest internship as an assistant in a large law firm in the bay area and about some of the cases Sam's worked on since then. Sam is a bit reluctant to share more, but John doesn't press.

John learns that Dean's practically taken over Bobby's car repair shop, and he promises himself that he'll visit Bobby as soon as he can, because it's definitely been too long since he last saw that old man. Of course, thinking of Bobby as an old man reminds John that he himself is growing steadily older, and he decides to stop that train of thought right there.

Throughout the conversation, the four youths all seem so comfortable around each other, and it occurs to John that they really _are_ a family, as Cas said. They include John in their laughs, clueing him in to their inside jokes. Jess leans over to explain why she and Sam keep calling Cas "Mrs. Hudson," and when John admits that he's read the complete works of Sherlock Holmes before, he earns a huff of disbelief from Dean and an approving look from Cas.

In these moments, John realizes that he has a place here, in this family, and even though he knows it's impossible to fill the gaping hole in his chest that Mary left behind… this is the first time in years that he's ever wanted to try.

* * *

Sam tosses and turns in bed, unable to fall asleep.

Dad is really home. It's freaking impossible, is what it is. It's _surreal_. Sam's pretty sure that part of Dean always believed Dad would be back someday, but it wasn't until Sam saw Dad standing in the hallway that he realized he'd honestly believed that Dad would never show his face in Lawrence again.

And then that nice, long conversation they had tonight… it just seemed too good to be true. Dad was friendly, charming, and downright _nice_, and he didn't say a thing about Dean and Cas, even though they kept it pretty obvious what their relationship was like. Sam's never had the impression that Dad was homophobic, but he'd expected at least some surprise and maybe a little bit of distaste that his own son turned out to be bisexual. Dad's lack of reaction was a pleasant surprise.

Sam flips over onto his stomach and punches his pillow a few times before resting his head on it again. He looks at Jess, sound asleep, and smiles. She's a deep sleeper—Sam wouldn't be able to wake her unless he really tried. He envies her for that ability sometimes. He closes his eyes again and tries to clear his mind, but thoughts keep stubbornly rising to the surface.

Finally, he gives up and gets out of bed to grab a glass of water. Maybe the short walk will do him some good. He walks past the guest room where Dad's sleeping—Cas had instantly offered up the master bedroom, but Dad had refused, joking about how Dean is the man of the house now—and Dad's light is off, but Sam's surprised to see that light is still glimmering from under Dean and Cas's door.

Sam walks over to their room silently and tries to pick up what they're saying, but they're murmuring too softly for him to pick up. So he turns away and goes back to the staircase—he can sorta guess at what they're talking about, anyway. Dean had been like Sam, not really wanting to touch the issue of _why_ Dad came home, and Sam's almost positive that Dean is discussing it with Cas now.

And he's happy for Dean, because Dean never used to unload to anyone in the past. He hadn't wanted to burden Sam, even though Sam would never have thought it a burden, and he obviously couldn't talk to Dad, so it's just good to know that there's someone Dean can actually _talk_ to, without reservation.

In the kitchen, he pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher and leans against the counter to drink it. Not a minute later, he recognizes the rhythm of Dean's footsteps, coming closer.

"Sammy," Dean says, appearing in the doorway. "What're you doing up?"

"Nothin'. Just thirsty," Sam answers.

"Oh." Dean frowns and says, "I uh, couldn't sleep."

Sam's still startled sometimes by just how much Dean's changed since he and Cas really started "going steady," how much Cas has managed to get his brother to open up. Dean is so much more honest about his feelings now, doesn't shy away at the first sign of them, and after years of watching his brother repress everything to do with his feelings, Sam still has to get used to this change.

"Yeah? 'Cause of Dad?" Sam asks, but it's not really a question.

Dean nods, moving to get himself a glass of water. "Yeah, I just…" he sighs. "Why now, y'know? What's he doing back here, _now?_ It's not as though anything's changed."

"I don't know," Sam says as Dean leans on the counter beside him.

"Cas says that maybe he just felt like it was time. It's… I don't like it."

_It's not enough_, Dean doesn't say, but Sam hears it anyway. "Cas is probably right, though," Sam says. "Didn't his dad come back from who-knows-where a few years back?"

"Yeah, he did." Dean sighs again. "It's… it's weird. I was sorta beginning to think I'd never see Dad here again. And now that he's actually here…" he shakes his head.

Sam smiles. "Do you remember the day Dad first took us to see this place?"

"Yeah, 'course I do. I remember the first thing I wanted to do was show it off to Jo and Victor," Dean says, lips tugging upward in a smile.

Sam huffs a laugh. "God, it's been a long time."

They stand together in the companionable silence that follows, each reliving his memories.

Sam remembers loving how high the ceilings were, and then he remembers being worried about getting lost in such a huge house. Dad had reassured him by leaving him upstairs in his bedroom and going back downstairs to shout at him, as proof that Sam would be able to hear him and find his way through the house by ear, if nothing else. Dean had thrown an arm around his shoulders and said, "It's okay, Sammy, you won't get lost. Not if I'm around."

"Well," Dean says, pulling Sam out of his reverie, "I'm heading back up to bed. Don't stay up too late."

"Yeah, I'll follow you up."

Sam downs the rest of his water and puts his glass down by the sink. Dean pours what he didn't finish down the drain, and Sam would point out that he's wasting water, but he just doesn't feel like it right now. They head upstairs together.

"'Night, man," Sam says at the top, turning to go down the hall toward his bedroom.

"G'night, Sammy," Dean answers, heading off toward the master bedroom.

Sam glances back as his brother nears his room and hears Cas's voice faintly—"You lazy ass, how long can it take you to get a glass of water?" Dean shuts the door then, and it's hard to make out his indignant reply.

Sam slips back into his bedroom, shuts the door, and climbs back into bed with a warm, contented feeling in his chest. Dad's home, Dean and Cas are happy, Adam is safely at summer camp, and Jess is _here_.

A few minutes later, Sam falls asleep, smiling.


	29. The Tradition: Year 8

**A/N:** Castiel makes sure they don't watch _Underworld 4_.

Only one part left after this, guys! This is a short one, because I was a little worn out after writing The Outsiders. But no worries, the last part is a decent length. Thank you so much for reading:)

**XXIX. The Tradition: Year 8**

It's been pouring all week, and Castiel is pretty sure it's just dumb luck that he and Dean chose the one hour in the day when it cleared up a little to go to the theater.

Castiel has been in love—no, Dean, not _really_ in love, obviously—with Benedict Cumberbatch since he watched the pilot of _Sherlock_. He's watched a few of his movies since and has been suitably impressed with each performance, enough that he's rather excited to see _War Horse_. It doesn't hurt that David Thewlis and Tom HIddleston will be sharing the screen.

"Hey, would you look at that?" Dean says, grinning up at the board of show times. "The fourth _Underworld_ is out."

"We're not watching it, Dean."

"But it's my birthday. I'm allowed to pick."

"I'm not above withholding sex, Dean. We're watching _War Horse_."

Dean laughs and says, "Yeah, yeah. You know I'm just teasing. C'mon."

They purchase their tickets and stop by the concessions booth to buy popcorn—they're early for the showing, so they have plenty of time. On their way down the hall toward the theater, Dean's cell phone rings, and Castiel takes the popcorn to let him answer it.

"Sammy! Hey," Dean says, grinning. "How's California treatin' you?"

Castiel cannot hear Sam's response, but it makes Dean smile. Sam has just started his second semester of law school, and he seems to be enjoying himself, though he complained profusely about missing Jess throughout most of his first semester.

Dean pauses at the entrance to the theater, and Castiel motions that he's going to go ahead. Dean nods, and Castiel walks into the dimmed room to find seats. The theater is empty but for one couple in the very back, so Castiel goes up the stairs until he's about level with the center of the screen and moves to the middle of that row.

When Dean joins him a few minutes later, the first thing he says is, "You'd better not have finished all my popcorn."

Castiel shakes his head. "It's drenched in butter."

"I swear, you're a freak," Dean says, taking the bucket of popcorn from Castiel. "Who doesn't like popcorn drenched in butter?"

"Clearly, I don't," Castiel replies.

"Well, you are missing out."

"I worry about your heart sometimes," Castiel says. "It must be difficult, pumping blood through your clogged arteries."

"Well, I worry about your inner child," Dean returns. "He never gets the junk food he needs."

"I didn't like junk food as a child, either," Castiel reminds Dean.

"Of course you didn't," Dean says with a sigh. "Seriously, how are you even human?"

"I would answer that, but somehow I doubt you'd appreciate my response."

Dean laughs, and Castiel finds himself thinking about how lucky he is to have this, to be able to sit with Dean and make him laugh. Sometimes he wishes for a real romantic relationship with Dean, wishes for it so hard that it hurts, but at times like this, watching as Dean tips his head back, smiling widely, Castiel is perfectly happy with the chance he's been given, to have Dean for some part of his life.

"Cas," Dean says, brows furrowed, "you look so serious. Somethin' bothering you?"

Castiel smiles and shakes his head. "It's nothing."

"Mhmm," Dean grunts doubtfully.

"I was just thinking about the rain," Castiel improvises. "I don't think I've seen so much rain here before."

Dean's still eyeing him suspiciously, but he goes with it. "Yeah, looks like we're gearing up for a pretty big storm."

This actually _is_ a bit of a concern for Castiel, because he needs to get home tonight. There have already been reports of minor flooding around the city, and Castiel starts to wonder if the university might be closed until the rain lets up. If so, assignments will probably have to be pushed back a bit, and Castiel is just thankful that it's the beginning of the semester, because there is still time for professors to adjust the curriculum at this point.

Then Dean's voice pulls him out of his thoughts—"Look, I'm not good at all that touchy feely crap, but I'm not stupid enough to think you were really just worrying about the weather."

"Dean—" Castiel starts, worried that Dean might somehow have picked up on Castiel's feelings at last.

But Dean holds up his right hand and says, "Just let me… you haven't said anything about your family and I haven't asked, but if you need to talk about it, I'm here."

Relief and disbelief clamor in Castiel's mind, and he's temporarily speechless. "Dean," he finally says, watching as Dean squirms under his scrutiny, "did you just offer to talk to me about my _feelings?_"

"Hey, if you're gonna make a big deal outta this, I'm taking it back," Dean says gruffly.

"I appreciate it," Castiel says, sobering as the giddy relief at not being found out fades away. "I haven't said much because there really isn't much to be said. I met my father, and I was reacquainted with my brothers, but they hadn't changed much."

It's true that he hasn't talked about the trip. He did relate a few funny stories about Gabriel simply for entertainment value, but nothing else has struck him as worth sharing.

After a pause, Dean says, with practiced nonchalance, "So you're not moving back to California, then."

It takes a moment for these words to sink in, and then Castiel stares at Dean with renewed disbelief.

"What?" Dean snaps with barely veiled discomfort when Castiel remains silent.

"Dean, did you honestly think I would plan to move back to California without telling you?"

"Well, I didn't know!" Dean barks, and he's talking more to the chair in front of him than to Castiel, louder than he really needs to be, seeing as they're in a public place. But he continues without lowering his voice, "You hadn't said a thing, and no matter what you say to try and convince me otherwise, I know you were still waiting for your dad because I know what that feels like, and then he was back, and you flew right out there, and—" Dean turns his head to look at Castiel for the first time since he started his tirade, and his words immediately stop at what he sees.

Castiel is certain he looks stunned, because that's exactly how he feels. He had no idea that this was even a concern of Dean's, and that's utterly disconcerting to him because he should have guessed that Dean with all his abandonment issues would inevitably imagine Castiel leaving him behind. Castiel blinks a few times, trying to wipe away the wide-eyed, slack-jawed look that he must be sporting.

"Uh," Dean says quietly, looking away again, "I didn't mean to—that wasn't supposed to come out."

Castiel glances over his shoulder and sees that the other couple is still there, avoiding his gaze. He turns his attention back to Dean and says, "I had no idea that this was bothering you."

Dean huffs a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I figured."

"It's a good thing that you told me, Dean. And don't shake your head—it's true. The only way to resolve a problem like this is to talk about it. It wasn't even that difficult, was it?"

"Cas, can we just drop it?"

"Not yet," Castiel says. "Dean, how many times must I reassure you that I'm not leaving Lawrence? I like my life here. My friends are here—_you_ are here. I can't think of any place I'd rather be."

"Well forgive me for thinking that your family—"

"You know that I consider you and Lisa and Anna my family far more than any of my blood relatives," Castiel interrupts. "So I repeat, for the millionth time, that I am _not_ going anywhere."

He and Dean stare at each other for a long moment, and Castiel wills Dean to see the truth.

"It definitely hasn't been a million times," Dean grumbles when he finally breaks the silence, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying to hold back a smile, so Castiel considers it a victory.

Castiel: 1, Dean's insecurities: innumerable.

Castiel smiles, amused by his imagined score, and Dean sighs exaggeratedly. "Cas, you're such a girl."

"Yes, and you're the manliest man ever to walk the Earth."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Dean grunts. "Y'know, sometimes I regret helping you find your sense of humor."

"My sense of humor was fine before I met you, thanks," Castiel says.

"Yeah, right. You were so serious back then, and you didn't laugh at half of my jokes."

Castiel grins. "Have you ever considered the possibility that your jokes just weren't funny?"

"Dude, I was hilarious."

"If you say so, Dean," Castiel answers, and smiles in anticipation of Dean's indignant response.


	30. The Seasons, Part 4: Fall

**A/N:** Castiel loses his treasured ring, and Dean decides it's time to try something new.

Last part, guys. Thank you so very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this journey:)

**XXX. The Seasons, Part 4: Fall**

It's a few weeks before the beginning of the semester, and Dean's taking Cas out to dinner tonight—and as many more times as he can—because they won't have much free time once Cas gets busy with school.

"Hey, Cas! Hurry your ass up, we're gonna be late!" Dean calls, shrugging into his suit jacket.

He usually doesn't like dressing up to eat out, but once every now and then isn't so bad, and besides, Cas has managed to get Dean interested in the food at these fine restaurants, so tonight they're going to some stuck-up French place that Cas claims has really, really good food.

Cas emerges from the bedroom, and Dean turns around to usher him downstairs, except that he's not wearing his jacket, and he's holding his tie in his hand, and he looks genuinely upset in a way that he hardly ever does.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Have you seen my ring?"

_Oh._ Dean frowns. "What?"

"My ring, Dean. I can't find it. Have you seen it?"

"Uh, no—you lost it?"

Cas sighs. "I don't know how that's possible," he says. "I never take it off—I never need to. There's no way I could have left it anywhere, and it's never fallen off."

"Hey, it's okay. We'll turn the room over when we get back. I'm sure we'll find it," Dean says. He knows exactly where the ring is, but Cas isn't supposed to know yet. Cas doesn't look consoled by Dean's words, so Dean offers, "If it's really bothering you, you could take mine. They're identical, right?"

Cas shakes his head. "No, that one's yours—I couldn't possibly take it. I just… that ring meant a lot to me, and I don't understand how it could be missing."

"Cas, don't worry. We'll look for it when we get back. Now, we've gotta get going. We can't be more than fifteen minutes late for our reservation, and we're already running late," Dean says.

"Yes, of course," Cas says resignedly, slinging his tie around his neck and tying it haphazardly before heading for the stairs.

"Hey, hey," Dean says, backing up quickly and stopping Cas with two hands on his chest. He sighs and lifts his hands to the base of Cas's neck to fix the tie. "How the hell are you a professor?" he comments as he adjusts Cas's collar. "You don't even know how to dress yourself."

"That's what I have you for, isn't it?" Cas says, and Dean thinks he'll never get used to that warm, swooping sensation that happens whenever Cas says stupid shit like that.

He clears his throat and turns away to grab Cas's jacket from the back of the chair that it's draped over and then heads for the stairs. "C'mon, let's go," he says, but before he can reach the stairs, Cas's hand wraps around his, pulling him back around for a kiss.

"Hmm," Cas hums as they part. Then he smiles and says, "_Now_, we can go."

* * *

The restaurant is all dim lighting and candles on tables and really attentive waiters with stuck-up accents, and it figures that Cas would suggest this sort of place, knowing it would make Dean squirm. But the food is really friggin' amazing, more than enough to make up for the discomfort, and by the time they're halfway through the meal, Cas has already managed to talk Dean into planning another dinner here.

"I'd still rather have a beer, though," Dean says, putting down his wine glass.

"Beer is available if you would like it, sir," the waiter says, and closer to the beginning of the meal, Dean probably would have jumped, but he's gotten a little more used to the guy popping in and out randomly.

"Uh, that's fine. Maybe next time," Dean says, and his smile is just a bit uncomfortable.

The waiter—_Pierre_—bows and walks away swiftly, and Dean lets out a sigh. Cas opens his mouth as if to comment, but he's interrupted by a man clapping him on the shoulder.

"Cas, hey!" the guy says.

"Mark," Cas says, smiling warmly, and Dean judges from Cas's reaction that this is a friend of his. "This is Dean—I've told you about him. Dean, Mark."

"Nice to finally meet you," Mark says, stepping forward to extend a hand.

"Uh, can't say the same," Dean answers, shaking Mark's hand. "Cas hasn't mentioned you before."

"Oh, I'm hurt," Mark says, mock-pouting. But he flashes a grin in Cas's direction and says, "It's been such a long time. Y'know, I think I could use a good pounding. Dean, you're a lucky guy."

Dean's just started to lift the wine glass to his mouth, and he's really fucking grateful he hadn't taken a sip yet, because he thinks he probably would've choked on it in surprise. He catches himself with a light cough instead and manages, "That's me, all luck."

Mark smiles at Dean and then back at Cas. "Well, I'd better get back to my friend now, so… I'll see you at work in a few weeks, yeah?"

"Of course," Cas responds.

"Bye, Dean. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, pleasure was all mine," Dean answers reflexively. He watches Mark walk away and then raises his eyebrows at Cas.

"In most of my sexual encounters, I topped," Cas explains nonchalantly, like this is any other piece of information about him, and Dean doesn't know how to react.

How is it possible that he's never even considered this before? Cas hasn't ever mentioned a preference before, and Dean's always just assumed that Cas likes taking it up the ass—well, of _course_ he likes taking it up the ass, that much isn't under dispute—but Dean doesn't know whether Cas would rather be topping. Dean hasn't had anything up his ass before, other than that one time when Cas used his _tongue_, which—fuck, that had been as amazing as it was terrifying, and Dean had made it clear that he wasn't game for it.

"Oh," is all Dean says—he doesn't ask Cas whether he prefers topping, but it's a close thing. "So does Mark always talk to you about stuff like that?"

Cas chuckles. "No, not for years. We slept together a few times when we were… fourth year undergrads. But then we graduated, and he went off to Berkeley for their math graduate program. He was hired back here at the start of last semester."

"Hmm," Dean says, and it occurs to him that he doesn't know anything about the people Cas has slept with over the few years that he was sexually active, and it _burns_ him to know that other people have shared a bed with Cas, that they got to him before Dean did.

And it's completely irrational—Dean's slept with his fair share of people, and hell, he actually dated two of Cas's close friends, so between Dean and Cas, if one of them has a right to be unhappy about the other's past, it's obviously Cas. Yet Dean can't shake that lingering dissatisfaction, the niggling thought that most of those guys experienced something with Cas that Dean has yet to do.

Except—he doesn't think he can do it. He's seen Cas's hole stretched around his, knows that it is physically possible, but Dean doesn't even want to _imagine_ his own ass opening up around so much as a finger, let alone a dick.

"Dean?"

Dean blinks a few times and focuses on Cas. "Yeah?"

"What were you thinking about?" Cas asks, eyes squinting a little as he studies Dean.

"Uh, nothing."

"Doubtful," Cas answers, but he shakes his head and moves on, "Anyway, I was saying—I'm almost positive I told you about Mark. Perhaps not that I'd slept with him, but because he came back last semester."

Dean shakes his head, frowning. "I don't remember hearing about him."

"Well, he was the one who filed a claim against Heyerdahl halfway through last semester and got him put under review," Cas informs Dean. "Students have started coming forth with stories about the things he asked of them in exchange for grades."

"Uh huh. And I care about this guy, why?" Dean says.

Now it's Cas's turn to raise an eyebrow at Dean. "Right, well, he's just a bad man who's been working in the math department for a long time."

Dean is perfectly aware that Cas is letting him get away with pretending he doesn't remember Heyerdahl, because Dean remembers him, remembers the whole encounter, all too clearly. It was probably one of the only times when he ever felt unsafe, like he wouldn't be able to defend himself. It was a frighteningly vulnerable moment, and he doesn't think he'll ever forget it.

"I'm confident that he'll be fired, or at least forced to retire," Cas finishes with a satisfied look on his face. "Ordinarily I wouldn't wish that on another professor, but he deserves it. And more, probably, but I'll settle for having him lose his job."

"I trust your judgment," Dean says.

Then _Pierre_ materializes beside the table and passes them dessert menus. He vanishes just as quickly, and Dean _swears_ these waiters are magic-ing themselves around somehow.

"Before you ask, _no_, they don't serve pie here," Cas says, and Dean sighs.

"Aw, damn it."

* * *

One week passes by, and Dean still can't stop thinking about all the crap that Mark's comment brought up that night at dinner. He hasn't had the nerve to ask Cas because god, that'd be an awkward thing to bring up if Dean weren't ready to offer.

He lets another three days pass by, and then he tells himself he can't stall any longer.

So that night, when Cas strips them both down and pulls Dean into bed, Dean indulges himself in a few kisses before stopping and lifting away.

"Dean, what—"

"I uh, I want to try it the other way around tonight," Dean says.

Cas blinks up at him. "You don't mean…"

"Yeah," Dean says, trying to sound decisive.

Cas is frowning now, and he looks _concerned_, which… what? "Dean, it's okay," he says, lifting his head to press a kiss to Dean's lips. "You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I want to."

"It's been bothering you, hasn't it?" Cas continues as though Dean hadn't spoken. "What Mark said, I mean. Dean, I'm perfectly happy with the physical component of our relationship, so you don't need to force yourself to change on my behalf."

"That's not it, okay?" Dean says. Cas just looks at him skeptically, and Dean sighs. "Okay, so maybe it's part of it," he admits. "But I do want it, Cas. I wanna… wanna experience everything that I can with you, and this is something we haven't done before."

"Because you're uncomfortable with it," Cas says.

"Well—" and Dean can't exactly deny this because he _does_ feel a bit uncomfortable thinking about it, but he's had over a week to get used to the idea, and he thinks he could try it now "—I mean, yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't try it."

"Dean, you don't have to prove anything to me. I already—"

"Shut up for a sec, okay?" Dean says. Cas opens his mouth, but Dean hurries to say, "I've been thinking about this for a while, and I finally feel ready for it, but if you keep trying to let me off the hook, I might cave."

"Then cave. You shouldn't have to—"

"_Cas_," Dean groans, exasperated.

"Look, you can't even say what it is that you claim to want. Isn't that proof enough that you don't really want it?" Cas argues.

"I want you to fuck me—I want you inside me," Dean blurts out impulsively. Cas's eyes widen, and Dean says, "This isn't me trying to _prove_ anything, okay? I want it."

Cas licks his lips once, and Dean can _see_ his pupils dilating, and if Dean had had any doubts before, just knowing how much Cas wanted this would have been enough to quiet them. Yet still Cas says, hesitant, "Are you _sure_, Dean?"

"For fuck's sake, yes, I'm sure," Dean answers, reaching over to grab the lube that he'd left out on the nightstand. He presses it into Cas's hand and repeats, "Yes."

Cas exhales slowly. "Okay, then," he says. "It's your first time, so maybe—I think it'll be easier if I open you up on your hands and knees."

Dean nods and shifts to the side, and he's very aware of Cas watching him closely, like he's expecting Dean to take back his offer at any moment. Cas slides out from under him, and Dean props himself up on hands and knees, feeling ridiculously vulnerable.

Cas crawls over him—Dean drops to his elbows to better support their combined weight—and presses a kiss to the knob of Dean's spine, at the base of his neck. His hands pet Dean's flanks, giving Dean this ridiculous mental image of Cas trying to soothe a horse or something, and he would laugh, except that it _is_ helping to calm him down, somehow. Cas kisses his way down Dean's spine, nice and deliberate, and Dean wonders if he's taking his time on purpose, giving Dean another chance to back out.

But Dean's already gotten this far, so he's gonna see this through.

By the time Cas's lips reach Dean's tailbone, Dean is hard, and when Cas reaches a hand around to give his cock a few firm strokes, a desperate groan breaks from his throat.

"Cas—don't—" he gasps out.

"Okay," Cas murmurs into Dean's skin.

He plants a long, open-mouthed kiss on Dean right below his tailbone, but it's not enough to distract Dean from hearing the snap as Cas pops open the bottle of lube. Dean tenses up despite himself, and Cas pulls away.

"Are you—"

"I'm sure, Cas," Dean interrupts, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

"Very well. If at any point you want me to stop or slow down, just say so," Cas says, putting a steadying hand on Dean's lower back.

Dean only nods because he doesn't think he can trust himself to talk right now. He takes a deep breath and focuses on Cas's presence behind him, forces himself to relax a little. Cas's hand slides down to pull Dean's left cheek to the side, and Dean doesn't think he's ever felt this exposed before.

Then a slippery finger is tracing his rim, and Dean clenches instinctively. Cas doesn't really react except to keep his finger where it is, letting Dean get used to the feeling. Dean exhales, and it sounds extremely loud in the otherwise quiet room. Cas is applying just a little pressure now, and the anticipation is _killing_ Dean.

"C'mon, Cas, just—just do it," he says. Dean's nerves have all but killed any arousal in his system, but he figures it's just hard to get started.

Cas hesitates for a moment longer before pushing forward with intent. Suddenly, it's as though all the nerves in his body have congregated at that point, and Dean can't stop himself from clenching up against the intrusion. He's dimly aware of Cas releasing his butt cheek to rub his lower back, and god, why did he ever think this was a good idea?

"Take deep breaths, and bear down," Cas instructs him firmly. As he finishes speaking, Cas wiggles his finger just a little, and Dean, not expecting the motion, yelps.

"_Just_—give me a minute," Dean says.

Cas holds perfectly still, and Dean takes a moment to just breathe. Then he braces himself and bears down, as Cas said. At the same time, Cas presses farther in, and Dean just feels uncomfortable. Cas pulls his finger away and then pushes it back in, wriggling it a little as he does, and Dean grits his teeth, trying to ignore the strangeness of it all—how the hell can anyone _like_ this?

Cas pulls his finger out completely, and when his touch returns, Dean hisses at the sudden coolness—he must have added some more lube.

"Sorry," Cas mumbles hoarsely.

Dean looks over his shoulder, and the sight that meets his eyes has his dick twitching—Cas typically has pretty intense focus, and right now it's completely zoned in on Dean's ass. Then those eyes flick up to meet his, and Dean feels his awkwardness and nerves slip away under the heat of Cas's gaze.

It occurs to him that Cas is sliding that first finger in and out a lot more readily now, that it isn't quite so bad as it was earlier. As though Cas is reading his mind, he pulls his finger out and presses a second fingertip to Dean's opening, pausing to meet Dean's eyes again.

"Yeah, c'mon," Dean says, turning his head to face forward again because he doesn't want to end up with a crick in his neck.

Then two fingers are pressing into him, and it's the same unnatural stretch as before. But Dean knows to just breathe through it, and it's easier this time around, somehow.

"Okay?" Cas asks.

Dean licks his lips. "Yeah, 'm fine. You can stop checking."

Cas chuckles lowly and scissors his fingers a little, drawing a surprised gasp from Dean. He doesn't tense up this time though, and it doesn't burn too badly. But there's only been discomfort so far, and Dean knows that some people don't feel prostate stimulation that strongly—maybe he's just one of those people.

Then Cas's fingers shift, and oh holy _fuck_, that felt good.

"Dean?" Cas asks, and he somehow manages to sound concerned and really fucking turned on at the same time.

Dean clears his throat and says, "That uh, do that again."

"As you wish," Cas says, as though he's indifferent to it all.

"Oh, you smug—" Dean starts.

But Cas chooses that moment to rub the tips of his fingers against Dean's prostate, and Dean's voice breaks into an involuntary moan. His back arches a little, and he feels his cheeks color as he realizes that the motion has him practically shoving his ass back onto Cas's fingers, but it feels so good that he can't even bring himself to care. Cas lets out a sound that might have been a muffled groan, and fuck, Dean should have suggested this earlier.

A few more purposeful brushes of Cas's fingers against his prostate, and Dean's fully hard again, aching and needy in a way that he doesn't think he's ever been before.

"Cas, I—please—"

Cas adds a third finger, twisting his wrist as he thrusts them inward, and the motion punches a sound out of Dean that he wasn't even aware he was capable of making.

"God, Dean," Cas breathes, and he sounds _awed_. He spreads his fingers a little, stretching Dean further, but this time it feels good, and Dean thinks—no, _knows_—he wants more.

"Cas, 'm ready," he says.

"Just a little more," Cas says, continuing to push his fingers in and out of Dean's ass, and god, it's _not fucking enough_. Dean clenches around Cas's fingers, relishing in the surprised sound that he gets outta Cas. "Okay, okay," Cas murmurs, pulling his fingers out.

Dean hears a bottle cap snap open and closed, and he starts to turn over onto his back.

"Wait—Dean—" Cas says, one hand gripping Dean's hip and stopping him.

"I wanna—I gotta see you," Dean says.

Cas swallows audibly, and his hand falls away. Dean flips over and settles into a comfortable position, lifts his head just in time to watch as Cas kneels between Dean's legs and slicks himself up.

"Oh, fuck." The words tumble out of his mouth without his permission.

Cas's eyes flick up to meet his, and Dean swears Cas almost looks _nervous_. "Dean, if you—there's still time for you to back out, if—"

"Cas, just shut up," Dean cuts in, shifting to spread his legs a little wider in invitation, and he'd feel ridiculous and embarrassed and exposed if it weren't for the wild look in Cas's eyes, like he can't believe what he's seeing, what he's been offered.

Dean reaches out and pulls at Cas's hand to bring it down to his hole, because if Cas isn't gonna put his dick in there yet, Dean can make do with fingers for the time being. But Cas leans forward, pushing their joined hands against the mattress, and presses his lips to Dean's. It feels strange to be lying here, Cas above him but not straddling him, and Dean tries to focus on the kiss so that he doesn't lose his nerve.

Cas shifts above him, one hand moving down to help position himself, and then the blunt head of Cas's cock brushes against Dean's hole. A silent, breathless moment stretches out between them. Dean watches Cas's eyes flutter open, wide and adoring and a little bit apprehensive, and Dean _would_ try to reassure him that this is exactly what he wants, except that he's already pretty nervous himself, can't bring himself to put on a show of false bravado, not when Cas has stripped him so bare.

Then Cas is pushing in, and Dean's barely aware of his mouth dropping open, his entire being focused on the not entirely unpleasant feeling as he opens up for Cas's cock. Cas goes slow, thrusting in small increments to give Dean time to adjust.

Finally, Cas bottoms out, and it feels like it took an eternity to get here, but Dean wouldn't give up this feeling for the world, this connection, this intimacy. He's so fucking _full_ in a way that he's never been able to successfully imagine, and fuck, Cas is _inside_ him. Dean doesn't think he's ever quite realized just what it is to be inside someone, not until this moment, when he's the one being pushed open.

"Dean," Cas whispers, lips brushing Dean's as he speaks.

Dean realizes that his eyes had closed of their own accord, so he opens them now and stares into wide, definitely awestruck, blue eyes. It occurs to Dean that Cas hardly hurt him at all, managed this with only minor discomfort, and god, Dean is so fucking lucky.

"_Dean_," Cas utters with more urgency this time, and Dean lifts his legs to wrap them around Cas's waist. The motion allows Cas to slide deeper inside Dean, and as Dean gasps in surprise, Cas lets out a low, gravelly moan that goes straight to Dean's dick.

"Move, Cas, c'mon," Dean grits out, hips shifting a little in encouragement.

Cas flashes a small smile at him, weird because it manages to be timid and cocky at the same time, and Dean wants to comment, but before he can, Cas is sliding out and then plunging back in. The abruptness of the motion forces a whine out of Dean's mouth, and as Cas starts building up a rhythm, Dean slides his hands up and around Cas's torso to clutch at the backs of his shoulders.

It takes a few thrusts before Cas hits the jackpot, Dean clenching involuntarily at the unexpected pressure against his prostate. Cas catches on instantly and maintains that angle.

"F—Fuck, Cas—more—_harder_—" Dean gets out between thrusts, because this nice, slow pace is great for reaffirming bonds and all, but Dean doesn't need Cas to prove his love. What he needs is a really good pounding, so Cas had better get with the program.

As always, Cas doesn't disappoint, moving his hips in a fluid motion that gets him perfectly, achingly deep with each thrust. But even as he begins to move faster, the force behind each thrust just isn't enough, and Dean wants to complain, but it's hard for him to use words right now.

But he eventually does speak up, when he's beginning to feel desperate, _starving_, for more. "C'mon, Cas, that—" he's cut off by a moan as Cas plunges into him "—that all you got?"

"Dean," Cas says, thrusting in one more time and then staying there, "you should know that goading will not work on me."

Dean voices his displeasure at Cas's lack of movement with a long groan, a wordless complaint. When Cas only leans down to kiss him, Dean squirms under him, grinds his hips upward in an attempt to hopefully entice Cas into moving again, because Dean's _dying_ here.

"Cas, you little fucker, _move_," Dean demands.

But Cas stays still and grabs a pillow to slide under Dean's hips, and sure, that's real considerate of him, but Dean can't really appreciate it in his current state. Cas takes his sweet time drawing out and pushing back in, and Dean needs it harder, faster, needs it so bad he thinks he could cry.

"Cas, _please_," he gasps on the next thrust, and then Cas's mouth presses against his again.

"Dean, I don't want to hurt you," Cas says, voice tight with restraint.

"You won't, you won't—Cas, I need—c'mon, please," Dean babbles until Cas kisses him quiet, hushes him with soothing murmurs. Dean doesn't even know what Cas is saying, just listens to the lilting of his voice and lets it calm him down some.

Cas lifts himself up, bracing his weight on his elbows above Dean, and looks down at him. There seems to be a question in his blue eyes—_you really sure you're okay with this?_—and Dean lifts his head and plants a quick kiss on Cas's lips in lieu of a verbal answer, knowing that Cas will understand and deliver.

And god_damn_, does Cas deliver.

After their lips part, Cas takes a moment—giving Dean a millionth chance to back out—and then he's rearing up to sit on his heels, grasping Dean's hips and pulling until Dean's ass is in his lap. Dean hardly even has time to be surprised before Cas is using his hold on Dean's hips to lift him up and slam him back down, and _oh-fuck-yes_, this is exactly what Dean wants.

Dean's always known that Cas was strong, but he certainly hasn't felt it as keenly as he does now. He props his torso up on his elbows, and it's unbelievably fucking hot to watch Cas's slender fingers flexing on his hips, lifting Dean's lower body like he weighs nothing.

Dean doesn't think he's ever been quite so grateful for Cas's laser-focus, his attention to detail, because fuck, Cas hits the sweet spot with every single thrust, and Dean would be embarrassed by the high-pitched sounds coming out of his throat if it didn't feel so fucking good.

"Come on, Dean," Cas urges from above him, "let go. Come for me."

He takes one hand away from Dean's hips and wraps it around Dean's shaft, and Dean can't decide if he's more disappointed at the lessened force of Cas's thrusts or ecstatic at the friction around his cock.

But Cas knows Dean too well, knows to twist his hand only slightly on the upstroke, to swipe his thumb over the head every few strokes, knows the perfect amount of pressure to apply, and before Dean can protest, he's coming, exploding milky-white over both their stomachs.

Dean's almost positive he blacks out for a while, because when he comes down, Cas has already mostly licked his hand clean, and Dean groans at the sight of Cas's index finger disappearing into his mouth.

"God, Cas…" he murmurs, voice hoarse and fucked-out.

He becomes aware of the fact that Cas is still inside him, still hard, and he grabs for Cas's hand, directs it back to his hip in an unspoken invitation. But instead of going back to what he was doing before, Cas pulls Dean off him—Dean will never, ever admit to the whine of protest he lets out at that—and places Dean's hips back on the pillow again, crawling over him to kiss him.

Dean keeps his legs spread and tilts his hips up, and Cas takes the hint and slides back into Dean. This time the fit is perfect, like Cas _belongs_ inside Dean, fills him up completely. Cas starts moving again, pumping in and out of Dean in long, slow strokes, deep and unhurried and utterly, _painfully_ perfect.

Cas hits Dean's prostate a few times too many, and Dean knows he's never gotten it up again so fast, but he's definitely getting hard, desperation welling up inside him again. Cas's thrusts get shorter, erratic, and Dean's learning how to move, how to push back. It only takes a few more strokes before Dean's on the brink again, and fuck, prostate stimulation seems more like a miracle than anything natural, and Dean can't believe it took him so long to try this.

Dean reaches down between them and fists his cock, and god, it's almost too much, almost unbearable, but it's also just right, somehow, and Dean wants it to stop, wants to reach the end just as much as he wants it to last forever.

Then Cas withdraws his hips, as though he's going to pull out of Dean entirely, and that is not in the realm of things that are okay, so Dean tightens his legs around Cas's waist, keeping him inside.

"D—Dean, I'm gonna—"

"Come, then, Cas," Dean gasps out, still working his own dick. "C'mon, wanna feel you filling me up."

Cas chokes on a moan, thrusts in one last time, and comes to a halt. Dean feels Cas's cock pulsing, spurting warm and wet inside him, and after a few more rough tugs, Dean comes for the second time that night.

It takes longer to come down this time, and the first thing he notices is the crushing weight still on top of him. "Cas," he groans, wriggling a little to get his attention. "You're really goddamn heavy—get off me."

Cas hums wearily and waits a moment longer before propping himself up on his elbows. He pulls his hips back, and Dean hisses as Cas's dick slides out of him, along with a dribble of wetness that Dean realizes is Cas's come. Dean makes a face at the sensation as more come leaks out of him, and above him, Cas laughs lightly.

"Dude, it's gross," Dean mutters.

"We can try it with a condom next time, then," Cas says, and then he hastens to add, "That is, if you still want—"

"I do, Cas," Dean interrupts. "This wasn't a one-time deal."

Cas cracks a small, pleased smile, and Dean can't help but smile back.

But then Dean shifts a little, feels some more come trickle out of his ass, and he definitely won't be able to just fall asleep like this, no matter how heavy his limbs feel. "C'mon, shower time," he says, shoving at Cas's shoulders. "I gotta clean out my ass."

Cas laughs and pushes back onto his knees before sliding off the bed. "I think I'll be able to help you out with that," he says, extending a hand toward Dean to pull him up, and Dean is momentarily struck dumb by the memory of Cas's tongue in his ass, seemingly forever ago.

"Yeah, I can get behind that," he manages, taking Cas's hand.

* * *

Autumn is Castiel's favorite time of year, because he associates it with the day he met Dean.

Sure, they didn't exactly meet in the fall, but it had been the beginning of fall semester, and the association stuck. Castiel counts the days left before he has to start teaching and realizes that today's August 20th—exactly ten years have passed. Ten years ago today, Dean moved in. Ten years ago today, they met for the first time, and Castiel cannot believe how far they've come since.

He still remembers his first impression of Dean, remembers opening the door and being so captivated by Dean's appearance that he'd forgotten his own _name_ for a moment. He'd been so sure that he wouldn't have a chance with Dean, absolutely certain that Dean was straight and would stay that way.

It's insane, how much has changed. Castiel can hardly believe that last night was real—he'd woken a few minutes ago, half-convinced that last night had all been a dream. But he'd slipped a hand down along Dean's back, felt where Dean's hole was slightly loose, and god, it all _really happened_.

Castiel isn't stupid—he knew that Dean had been thinking about bottoming, that Mark's words must have gotten to him. But he hadn't expected Dean to actually offer, much less want to look Castiel in the eye as he was penetrated. The fact that Dean was able to open himself up so fully makes Castiel feel like he's come closer to Dean than he has in all the years that they've known each other, even after they started really dating. It may be a mere physical act, but the significance of the act, of Dean being the one to offer, goes so far beyond physical.

Castiel finishes brushing his teeth and splashes some water on his face. As he rinses his hands, he realizes that his ring is back on his finger again. He turns off the faucet and quickly dries his hands before looking at the ring.

No, this isn't his ring—it's Dean's. But when did Dean give it to him? Castiel doesn't remember seeing Dean without his ring, and he's fairly certain that that is something he would've noticed.

He wipes his face dry and goes back out into the bedroom, only to find the room vacated.

Intending to get some answers from Dean, Castiel pulls on a pair of sweats and a faded, grey t-shirt before padding downstairs. He follows his nose to the kitchen and is surprised to find Dean sitting at the small table.

"Good morning, Cas!" Adam says from his spot in front of the stove, where Castiel had expected to find Dean—he typically likes making breakfast as long as Adam or Castiel takes care of the dishes.

"Good morning," Castiel responds, and as soon as Adam turns back to the stove, Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean.

"Adam's making us breakfast 'cause he's awesome," Dean explains, grinning lazily.

Castiel pulls off his ring and holds it out to Dean, who stares down at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"This is yours," Castiel says, placing it on the table in front of Dean.

"What—who said?" Dean splutters.

"I did. I've been wearing my ring for almost two decades, Dean. I know what it feels like. Did you take my ring?" Castiel asks.

"I uh—"

Before Dean can answer, Castiel snatches his right hand, and as suspected, his own ring is fitted snugly around Dean's fourth finger. Castiel levels a no-nonsense glare in Dean's direction and says, "Explain."

"It's stupid."

Castiel doesn't look away and doesn't change his expression, because he knows that this is something he can force Dean to give up as long as he's persistent enough.

Dean sighs. "I had this whole spiel planned, but of course you'd notice ahead of time," he grouses. "I just uh, I had our initials engraved on the insides." Castiel looks at Dean, disbelieving, and Dean makes an annoyed huffing sound. "I switched the rings so that you'd have my initials and I'd have yours, okay?"

The idea is so sentimental that Castiel almost doesn't believe Dean capable of coming up with it. He lifts up the ring that he'd placed on the table—Dean's ring—and sure enough "DW" is carved on the inside in fine script.

Adam chooses this moment to cough loudly, and Castiel watches, amused, as Dean flushes red. "Um," he says, "does this—I mean, I've been here the whole time, so do I count as a witness?"

Dean clears his throat and answers, "Yes. Yeah, you're our witness."

"I haven't even said yes," Castiel says.

Dean looks at Castiel sharply, a hint of doubt in his eyes, and says, "Okay, then. How about it?"

Castiel normally prides himself on what Dean calls his "poker face," but he can't help breaking into a smile now. "Yes, Dean," he says. "To you, the answer is always yes."

Dean gets to his feet and takes the ring from Castiel. He slips the ring back onto Castiel's finger and pulls him into a brief kiss. "Happy tenth," Dean murmurs against Castiel's lips.

Startled, Castiel pushes him away and says incredulously, "You _remember_ the day that we met?"

"What—of course I do!" Dean says indignantly. Castiel arches one eyebrow, and Dean smiles ruefully. "One of these days, I'm gonna figure out how you can tell when I'm lying, and I'm gonna make it so you can't. So I might have looked up my move-in date when I realized we were coming on ten years."

Castiel can't seem to stop smiling because this is actually better than Dean remembering on his own—it's truer to who he is.

"What?" Dean says, and Castiel probably should stop smiling, but he finds that he just can't.

So he hauls Dean in close for another kiss, deeper this time.

"Oh! Oh, come on, not at the kitchen table!" Adam gripes.

Castiel pulls away, enjoying the way Dean's head moves to follow his for a second before he remembers himself. Dean smiles and says, "So, Castiel Winchester. I like the sound o' that."

"The state of Kansas doesn't allow same-sex marriage, you know," Castiel has to point out.

"Yeah well, you're unofficially a Winchester, then. Until the state _does_ allow it."

Warmth and affection swell in Castiel's chest until he thinks he could burst. "I don't need to share your name, Dean. Your proposal was more than enough."

Dean grins. "Yeah?" he says, leaning in for another kiss.

Castiel lifts a hand and covers Dean's mouth. "I love you, but I can only put up with so much of your morning breath. Go brush your teeth."

Dean laughs outright at that, pushes Castiel's hand out of the way, and drags him in for a kiss anyway. He doesn't prolong the kiss though, and a moment later, Dean pulls away and leaves the kitchen. Castiel takes a seat at the small table, a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips.

Dean's ring doesn't fit perfectly on his finger, not like his old ring had, and Castiel knows that if he asked, Dean would be willing to take both rings back to the jeweler to get them resized, but even as he considers that option, he rejects it. The band of metal is not unlike the road that he and Dean took to get here—it may have been long, may have had its fair share of imperfections, but given the choice to start over, Castiel thinks he wouldn't change a thing.

He looks over at Adam, still puttering around the stove, and thinks about how unexpected his appearance had been. He and Dean have no way of knowing what will come for them in the future, but Castiel is solid in the knowledge that no matter what comes, he and Dean will stand beside each other.


End file.
